Justement, Je Regrette Les Zombies
by Tubular Fox
Summary: After college, all Arthur wanted to do was live a normal life hacking into government databases.  But if the flesh-hungry zobies are any indication, the universe has differen plans.
1. Soon time will be ended, eternity's near

Here we are! The prologue of the much-announced Zombie Apocalypse AU! Hope you all enjoy it!

**MY SISTER AND WONDERFUL BETA, TOWEL_MASTER (or, VergOfTowels as she is over here) DID AWESOME FANART FOR THIS. YOU CAN FIND IT ON HER DEVIANTART (http:/vergoftowels(dot)deviantart(dot)com/gallery/#/d2xp6sn) OR AT HER LJ (http:/towel-master(DOT)livejournal(DOT)#cutid1)****

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**November 4, 2013: Present Day**

_"—dne? Ariadne, are you still here? Ariadne!"_

The girl gasped and strained against the hand on her shoulder. "I have to go. I can't just leave him out there. It's—"

"Arthur, yes, I know," the man sighed, and there was an odd note in his voice. He cocked his shotgun, considering.

"You known him?" she asked, momentarily caught by surprise.

"Yes, he and I are acquainted." Again, the odd tone…

"Then we _have _to let him in! Come on! It's _Arthur!_ No matter what you say, I can't just leave him out there." Ariadne pushed the restraining—_warning_—hand off of her and took a step toward the blockaded door. "I've known him for years. I can't just _abandon _him, Eames."

Her companion finally nodded, seemingly reluctant, but Ariadne thought she could make out a hint of relief in his eyes. She figured that he wanted to find Arthur— or _anyone_ they knew—safe as much as she did. With a nod to her to move the bookcase, Eames opened the door and pointed the shotgun out into the dim hallway.

"Clear," he said, after a minute. "Come on then, pet." Giving her a handgun from his belt, Eames led Ariadne down the empty corridor. Above, what lights that hadn't been shot out or similarly destroyed in the first rounds of chaos flickered ominously, casting dancing shadows that played hell with their imaginations.

_"Ariadne?_"

"He sounds like he's a level down," Eames said. "Bloody idiot. Doesn't he know that shouting will bring them faster?" But there was worry in his voice.

They approached the stairs, stepping over the fallen bodies that littered the carpet. If it hadn't been for the holes in their heads and the gore on their faces and clothes, Ariadne could almost have pretended they were sleeping.

When they were halfway down the stairwell, the heard the bark of two gunshots and a muffled curse and froze.

"Arthur…" Ariadne breathed, fingers tightening on the gun she'd been handed. "Oh God, please be okay."

"If he's half the man I remember, he's fine," Eames assured, but his voice was tight with anxiety as he descended the last stairs and kicked the door open.

The hallway stretched before them, silent but for the sounds of a struggle down at the other end. From where they stood in the stairway door, Ariadne and Eames could barely make out four figures in the dimly flickering light. Three of them were fighting, and one of them sat motionless on the ground.

"Onward, then," Eames said with a quirk of a smile, and he and Ariadne began their stealthy approach, wary of the gaping doorways that could hide anything—or any_one_—inside them.

The first one to notice them was the woman on the ground.

She turned to look at them from where she was crouched in the half-smashed-in confines of apartment 117, her eyes wide and pleading, her bloodstained hands pitifully clutched to her chest.

"Please," she whimpered brokenly, hand reaching out to them. "Please help my husband. That man's a _murderer_. Please—"

She fell still when the bullet hit her right between the eyes.

Eames took aim again and shot at one of the fighting men; a teen in a formerly green hoodie. The bullet missed the target when the boy ducked down out of the way. Then he turned to face them. His mouth was smeared with blood and his eyes were crazed, and he gave a wicked smile when his eyes landed on Ariadne.

"Hello there," he said, and his voice had a soft, breathy quality, like wind through dead leaves. Ariadne shuddered and raised her gun.

Eames beat her to it, his shot catching the teen just above the left eyebrow. In a rain of blood, half of his still-smiling face was blown away.

Out of immediate danger, Ariadne allowed her eyes to go to the two remaining figures: one a slim man in a suit, the other a slightly more bulky thug in what looked to be jeans and a gray t-shirt. They were grappling in close quarters, and she heard Eames swear softly behind her. He didn't want to take the chance of hitting the wrong person, and no matter _how_ good a shot he was…

But they didn't have to worry. Arthur, once-elegant suit now ruined with gore, got a knee up between himself and his adversary, shoving the wild man out of his personal space. Then Arthur lifted his axe and swung, neatly parting his attacker's head from his neck in an artful spray of blood.

As the body dropped, he spun on his heel and drew his handgun, sweeping it to cover both Ariadne and Eames. For a moment, they all just stared at each other, and then Eames smiled.

"Darling," he said. "You look gorgeous as always."

A myriad of emotions flitted across Arthur's face. Among them Ariadne could see surprise, trepidation, and more prominently, relief.

"Eames," he acknowledged and actually—_bless him_—tugged his waistcoat straight self-consciously. "Ariadne, thank God. I'm glad to see you two…_healthy._"

He hadn't lowered the gun.

"We are, darling. Though I suppose you have no reason to believe me. Shall we go outside into some more…_adequate_ light so you can examine our color? And we yours?"

The lights continued to flicker above their heads, and the bulb behind Arthur burst with the next power surge.

"That might be the best option," Arthur conceded, but neither party moved.

"Arthur," said Ariadne, "we're not sick. Can't we all just go back to the room? There might be more outside." She sounded as nervous as she looked.

"That is a good point," Eames said. "Especially since _Arthur_ here was yelling so _loudly_. He probably drew everyone for a mile in every direction." He shot the man in question an annoyed look.

"Well ex_cuse_ me for wanting to know if one of my friends was all right, Eames. Next time _you_'_re _trapped in a den of raving lunatics hungry for your flesh, I'll just leave you!" Arthur was glaring, and his hand had tightened on the grip of his Glock.

Eames raised the shotgun higher.

"Guys. _Guys_," Ariadne snapped, placing her hand on Eames's gun and pushing it down. "The infected have no emotions. Now that you're suitably pissed off at each other, can we go get supplies or, you know, do something _useful_?"

After a tense moment, Arthur lowered his gun and Eames thumbed the safety of his on, but their shoulders did not relax.

"The lady's right," Eames said with an irritatingly charming smile. "Shall we, _darling_?"

"Let's just go," Arthur said, holstering his gun. He took a few steps forward until he was even with them, and then gestured for them to lead the way back up the stairs. Ariadne took the initiative and started up first.

Eames hesitated for a moment, then slid his arm around Arthur's shoulders and pressed his forehead to Arthur's temple for the briefest of seconds. "I'm so glad you're all right," he breathed.

"Yeah, you, too." Arthur leaned into the embrace with a small sigh. "This is fucked up."

"Yes, it is. But it's life. For now, at least."

"Get off me." Arthur pulled away, but he was smiling slightly. Together they followed Ariadne upstairs.

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Hooray! Just to tell you all, I will be following a one chapter/week posting schedule. **This fic is done, so no worries there. I will post chapter a week, for the next 13 weeks. :)** And yes, the chapters after this will all be longer. I hope you all enjoyed!

Now, in case you missed it the first time: **MY SISTER DID AN AWESOME BIT OF FANART FOR THIS, OVER AT HER LJ OR DEVIANTART. PLEASE GO TO http:/towel-master(DOT)livejournal(DOT)#cutid1 or http:/vergoftowels(DOT)deviantart(DOT)com/gallery/#/d2xp6sn**


	2. It is only a step to the grave

Hello, everyone! Chapter 2 is here, bringing the backstory. I hope you enjoyed chapter 1, and continue to enjoy the rest of the story! Mucho thanks again to my beta, VergOfTowels. :)

**Oh, and a little formatting note: **Things that are marked as **-Word-** that are not line breaks are supposed to be viewed as crossed out. However, unlike LJ, does not have the capabilites to handle that markup. So that's what I'm using.

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May 25, 2010: Three years before the Outbreak

Life never goes the way you plan it.

This Arthur had learned in many ways and quite depressingly often. When he came out to his family after high school, he didn't know what he had been expecting—but it surely hadn't been a huge falling out with his brother that led to a six-year-long-and-running silence between them.

When he'd gone to college and majored in computer programming, he'd had dreams of leaving town—if not all of South Carolina—behind, only to wind up working in the family business after graduation.

That was, off course, his father's weapons shop.

His father had inherited the store from his father, and he from his father before him, and so on. Privately, Arthur had always wondered if this went on until they got back to the Stone Age. From the way his father talked about the shop's _history,_ the answer was _yes_.

But these were _always_ private thoughts. Not only did his father _own_ the store, but he was also proficient in the use of every weapon it sold, from guns to swords. It was not a good idea to mock the man.

So Arthur had sighed and suffered through all of his father's combat-training weekends throughout his days at school, "reaping the benefits" as his father had said.

He was the youngest of three children, but he was the only one who could shoot straight.

The thing was, Arthur had very little interest in hunting, or, in fact, violence at all. He had a degree in computer science, not to mention a thriving side-career as a hacker. He really didn't need to sit behind the counter and watch rednecks and paranoids come in to load up on ammo or more guns (which he made sure they had a license to own). He'd much rather be behind a computer screen, creating new code or reading top-secret government files.

However, it was behind the counter of his father's store that he first met Dominic Cobb.

**-ooo-**

"Is there something I can help you with?" Arthur asked for what felt like the millionth time that day, not looking up from his computer. It seemed like every week he was helping the same people find the _same_ things over and over. He'd developed a kind of proximity-radar, so he didn't actually have to look to find people dithering helplessly by the register.

"No, I don't think so. Not right now, at least," came a voice he'd never heard before. Curious, Arthur glanced up from the screen to see a young man in a button-down shirt and jeans. His hair was dirty-blonde and slicked back haphazardly, and he had a thin line of gold ringing his mouth—one of the few tasteful goatees Arthur had ever seen.

"Well, let me know," Arthur said, and turned back to his laptop. He was dimly aware of the new customer puttering around the shop before he strode purposefully up to the desk. Once again, Arthur looked up.

The shop was now empty, save for the two of them.

Arthur warily closed his laptop to turn his full attention to the stranger. He didn't like the way he was eyeing the gun display rack. His gaze was critical as it slid over each model. The shotguns were studied first, from the standard Uplander to the pump-action 20 gauge. Then, the rifles. Then, the handguns.

"If you're thinking about trying to steal them, I'm going to have to strong-arm you into submission," Arthur sighed. "And neither of us wants that to happen, trust me."

His remark was greeted with a raised eyebrow and a glint of surprise that melted into an amused smile that Arthur just…_had_ to return.

"Dominic Cobb," the man said, extending his hand.

"Arthur DeLacey," Arthur replied, taking it. "So, you're a new face around here, Mr. Cobb. What brings you to _Armé Jusqu'Aux Dents?_"

"'Armed to the Teeth?'" Cobb laughed. "That's a good name for this store. I mean, even my usual haunts don't have this many weapons in them." He leaned on the counter to inspect the display of Derringers.

"Well, ever since Governor Sanford signed the okay for that CWP thing, sales for concealables have skyrocketed. Anything that will fit in a glove compartment," Arthur said with a shrug. "Dad says it's good for business, but I'm not sure I agree. I mean, not everyone should have a concealed weapon, y'know? But then again, we sell big-ass knives, too, so."

He waved a dismissing hand in the air to brush away the conversation before Cobb could reply.

"What can I do for you today, Mr. Cobb? Before engaging in any talks about the purchase of firearms, I am going to have to see your permit. Are you a hunter? I have some suggestions if you're…"

But Cobb was shaking his head.

"No, I'm here on a more personal visit. You see, Mr. DeLacey, I'm hoping you _will_ be able to help me. But I don't need a gun."

Arthur blinked and shifted back in his chair a little, suspicious.

"All right, how about a knife? We sell those, too. They're in behind, though. If there's a certain type you're looking for—"

"No, not a knife either. I did come here looking for a weapon, but nothing so obvious as the physical ones you sell. I came here to buy you, Mr. DeLacey."

Arthur was oscillating between curious and extremely disturbed, and disturbed was winning.

"Excuse me—" he began, but Cobb cut him off again.

"I need network passwords, schedules, door codes, a closed loop, and a particularly nasty computer virus. And you come very highly recommended," Cobb said, turning his head a little to smile at Arthur. It was then that Arthur realized Cobb was carefully keeping his back to the camera and his mouth out of sight. On the security feed, it would just look like he and Arthur were having a conversation about Uplander Supremes.

He had to admire the man's planning.

"We don't have what you want in stock, unfortunately," Arthur said. "But the new shipment is coming in at five. If it's necessary that you have the barrel today, meet me out back then, and we can get you set up."

Cobb smiled a bit wider.

"Oh, but my only requirement is that you bring your license and the rest of your collection for me to inspect," Arthur added, and after a minute of reflection, Cobb nodded.

"All right. I'll see you then, Mr. DeLacey. Have a pleasant day."

"You, too, Mr. Cobb," Arthur said. Calmly he opened his laptop again and methodically began running every search he could think of to find anything on one Dominic Cobb.

**-ooo-**

The job was an easy exercise for Arthur, and it seemed that Cobb liked his attitude because they worked together again, and then again, until they were practically permanent partners.

Cobb worked out of LA, so he and Arthur didn't see each other much, but Arthur would always send Cobb the information he needed or the loop he required because he could do it all from his laptop in Charleston.

By the end of that year, Arthur and Cobb were such friends that the casual observer would have sworn they'd grown up together. Cobb's children had taken a swift liking to him the first of many times he'd met them, and now called him Uncle Arthur. He was honored they still remembered him, and sometimes sent small presents up to them along with Cobb's info, usually little graphic designs like a ninja for James or a singing unicorn for Philippa.

They adored him.

**-oooxooo-**

**June 20, 2011: Two years before the Outbreak**

"Philippa! _Philippa_!"

Eames looked over at side yard in surprise just in time to see the small blonde girl race out of the fence that enclosed the backyard. Following her was a stressed young man, sleeves rolled up and hair slicked back. His tie had come loose from his vest, but the man hadn't seemed to notice as he chased the child.

He was possibly the most beautiful creature Eames had ever seen.

"Philippa, come on! Your father said to stay in the backyard! Come on!"

_'He sounds tired,'_ Eames thought as he watched the young man for a few more minutes before remembering why he'd come here. He moved to knock, only to have the door open before his hand was halfway to the wood.

"Cobb," the conman greeted, not really surprised to find Cobb at the door already. After all, Philippa and her captor—for now Eames saw that the young man had successfully grabbed Cobb's daughter and was throwing her over his shoulder—were being loud enough to wake the dead.

"Eames. Glad you could make it," the thief replied. "Sorry about the girls." He stepped back to let Eames into the house, and the conman soon found out what Cobb was talking about: there was a veritable _horde_ of little girls in party hats running around in the backyard, amongst them the newly released Philippa.

By the snacks table Eames spotted Mrs. Cobb, a lovely and kind woman who always had a word or two for him about his line of work, even though she was married to—and aided—one of the best criminals in the world.

Next to her was Eames's gorgeous young man. He was slumped in one of the plastic chairs on the deck, massaging the back of his neck. He looked worn out, but Eames supposed that that was what happened when one was not used to caring for children. The man's whole manner screamed _reluctant babysitter_ and not _parent_, yet he was stuck in charge of watching ten or so six-year-old girls.

Eames felt for him.

"So, who's your friend?" he asked Cobb nonchalantly. Cobb took it as a scoping of territory, as Eames wanted him to, and not as the 'What's his name and is he available?' that it really was.

"That's Arthur, my hacker," Cobb answered. "You can relax. I trust him."

"Well, _that's_ obvious, Cobb. You don't let just _anyone_ get killed by your daughter's birthday party," Eames replied.

"True enough," Cobb agreed with a snort of laughter. "He does look rather exhausted, doesn't he? Maybe I should—no. Mal can take care of him. Now's time for business. You want to wait here while I get your money?"

"Can I wait outside?" Eames asked, jumping at the chance to talk to Arthur. "I haven't said hello to the Mrs. yet. I hardly ever get to talk to her, though that's probably best. She doesn't care much for me, does she?"

"Oh, she likes you fine," Cobb said with a laugh. "Picking on you is how she shows affection. You should hear her when she gets started on _Arthur."_

Eames laughed, too, and headed for the sliding glass doors. "I'll see you in a few, then, Cobb."

The sunlight outside was warm after the A/C of the house, but it was still cool for late June. For a moment, Eames just watched the children run around the yard, squealing and shrieking in what he assumed was a game of tag.

Four-year-old James was winning.

"Good morning, doll," Eames said with a smile when Mal looked up from arranging candles on Philippa's cake and caught sight of him. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"_Bon matin,_" she answered pleasantly. "_Ça va, Monsieur_ Eames?"

"Oh, just fine, thank you, _Madame_ Cobb," he replied as she stepped forward and placed light kisses on his cheeks. "How are the children? Philippa's what, six now? Bloody Nora, how the time's flown by."

By now, Arthur had looked up from cradling his head in his hands to see who Mal was talking to. When he saw Eames, his face tinged a slight shade of pink. He hid it by rocketing up from his chair and telling James_ not to eat that_, though Eames didn't suppose he'd planned that as an escape seeing as it probably wasn't a good idea for the boy to be eating strange mushrooms from the edge of the lawn.

By the time Arthur looked back at Eames, the blush was gone and he was composed. But before he could say anything, Mal finished arranging the candles and turned to call to Philippa.

"Philippa! _Elle est la fois pour ton gateau!_ Cake!"

Anything Arthur or Eames could have said would have been drowned out by the happy yells from the crowd of girls (and James) as they raced up onto the deck to watch Philippa blow out her candles.

"Dom! _Viens ici!_ It's time for cake!" Mal called over her shoulder as she gently restrained Philippa from just pitching forward to extinguish the seven tiny flames (one for good luck) with a huge breath.

"I'm coming," Cobb chuckled as he stepped through the porch doors, laden with brightly colored bags. As he passed Eames, he slipped the conman an envelope. Eames smiled slightly and tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat. Watching Cobb set down the presents by a plastic bench, Eames took a minute to muse on the differences between Cobb the father and Cobb the criminal, before he was interrupted by a high-pitched, excited voice.

"And I made the cake all by myself! Didn't I, Uncle Arthur?" Philippa bragged to her friends.

"Yes, you did," Arthur replied. "Now, shall we sing?"

Happily, Eames joined into the off-tune chorus of "Happy Birthday", idly cataloging the voices, from Cobb's baritone to Mal's alto to Arthur's incredibly pleasing low tenor. It was a bit odd to hear both versions of the song sung at once—the children's "Happy Birthday" and Cobb, Mal, and (surprisingly) Arthur's "_Joyous Anniversaire"_.

When it was done, Philippa cut the cake with her mother's help. Arthur rose to get a piece, if only to be polite since he'd _seen_ how much sugar Philippa had put in the frosting when she thought he wasn't looking. He accepted the plate from Cobb and leaned in to talk to the older man under the pretense of grabbing a plastic fork out of the wire holder in the edge of the table.

"So, who is _that?_" he asked, gesturing to Eames with a small tilt of his head. And he wasn't as good as Eames at hiding the intentions behind his inquiry.

Cobb grinned. "Oh, Arthur. Sometimes I forget that you're only twenty-seven. Ah, to be so young…" Cobb purposefully trailed off wistfully to get his hacker's goat, and it worked.

"Cobb, I'm not some love-struck teenager, okay? I just want to know his name!" Arthur ground out, face a shade pinker. "And besides, you're only thirty-two! You're not that much older than me."

Cobb laughed a little longer, but soon settled down. "His name's Eames. He's an associate of mine."

"I see," Arthur said, surreptitiously watching Eames out of the corner of his eye. "Is he any good?"

"The best at what he does. Have you ever known me to work with less?" Cobb asked. He paused, slyly. "So, you going to go talk to him?"

"He has no fashion sense," Arthur replied, straightening his tie and acting like that answered the question. Cobb shook his head.

"Go on. Go _on._ Here, just take him a piece of Philippa's delicious cake. Okay? Perfect conversation starter." He handed Arthur another fork and a plate loaded with the light pink confectionery and gave him a small shove to the back.

Arthur shot him a poisonous look, but crossed the porch to where Eames sat, one leg crossed over the other, in a white plastic chair.

"Future cavities?" he asked the Brit, holding out the plate. Eames looked up, regarded the plate and then the one who held it, and smiled.

"Well, when you put it like that how could anyone refuse?" Eames reached out and accepted the paper plate from Arthur, fingers brushing the other man's gently on the underside. "Thank you. I don't think we've had the pleasure of an introduction. My name is Eames. I'm a business associate of Cobb's." He held out his hand; the left, because he had a glass of lemonade in his right and the plate of cake was balancing on his elbow.

"Arthur," he replied. "Same." He shifted his plate to his right hand and shook Eames's offered one. "It's nice to meet you."

Eames grinned. "The pleasure is all mine, darling. _Really."_

**-oooxooo-**

_**Letter #1**_

**June 30, 2011**  
**From Charleston, South Carolina**

_Mr. Eames,_

_Cobb needs someone of your expertise for a job, and we were wondering if you were available._

_Montenegro, August._

_Arthur_

**-ooo-**

_**Letter #2**_

**July 5, 2011**  
**From Venice, Italy**

_Arthur,_

_I would be honored to work with the two of you. I will be in Montenegro shortly. Shall I see you there?_

_Eames_

**-ooo-**

_**Letter #5**_

**November 12, 2011**  
**From Charleston, South Carolina**

_Eames,_

_Our heist today went well. The security was, of course, child's play. How went your job in Brazil? Fine, if the international headlines are anything to go by._

_It was nice to see you in Austria in October. Thank you for the tie, even though it will never match anything in my tastefully sedate wardrobe._

_Sincerely,_  
_Arthur_

**-ooo-**

_**Letter #19**_

**February 14, 2012**  
**From San Pedro, Belize**

_Dearest Arthur,_

_I had a wonderful time at dinner last week. I'm only sorry it couldn't be today. I was going to suggest we do something, but you were gone when I woke up. It's no matter, though. Happy Valentine's Day. You will probably get this late, but just know that I'm thinking of you._

_I_ **–lo-**_ miss you, darling._

_Yours,_  
_Eames_

**-ooo-**

_**Letter #25**_

**April 26, 2012**  
**From Paris, France**

_Cher Eames,_

_I miss you. I'm sorry I didn't call earlier today, but I was held up by Cobb. My job will be done in a week or two, so if you're in the area, we should grab dinner sometime._

_Hopefully, I'll see you soon._

**-Lov-**_ Fondly yours,  
Arthur_

**-ooo-**

_**Letter #45**_

**September 17, 2012**  
**From Manchester, England**

_Darling,_

_Happy birthday! I'm sorry I'm not there, and I'll call you later, but your present is in the mail. I got the book of poetry you sent me for mine. Thank you, darling. How on Earth did you know I liked García Lorca? You really are amazing._

**-I love-**_ I miss you, darling, and I'll try to see you soon._

_Thinking of you,_  
_James_

**-ooo-**

_**Letter #62**_

**December 23, 2012**  
**From Dublin, Ireland**

_My dearest James,_

_It's raining here, but I suppose that isn't a surprise, really. However, it is still as beautiful as it was in college. It's been entirely too long since we've met up. I can't wait to see you, so expect me to be a little early arriving in Beirut._

_I hope that won't be a problem._

_-_**I lo- I love-**_ I miss you,  
Arthur_

**-ooo-**

_**Letter #74**_

**February 30, 2013**  
**From Istanbul, Turkey**

_Dear Arthur,_

_I'm sorry about what I said last night in the hotel. You're right, and I was wrong. But you'll admit that my choice of hotel was a foolish thing to fight about, so let's just forget it. Okay?_

**-Lo-**_ Sincerely,  
James_

**-ooo-**

_**Letter #80**_

**March 7, 2013**  
**From Quebec City, Canada**

_James, _

_I apologize for calling you what I did. It was unfair and completely unfounded. Of course you have the right to go for drinks with other people. It's not like we're_ married_ or anything._

_-_**I'm sorry and I lo-**_  
I'm sorry,  
Arthur_

**-ooo-**

_**Letter #88**_

**March 23, 2013**  
**From Columbus, Ohio**

_Arthur,_

_In all honesty you're beginning to sound like a nagging old woman. Bloody hell, there's a_ reason_ that I never had an interest in dating a control freak. But, because I am partly to blame, I'll be the bigger man and apologize for this misunderstanding._

_Respectfully,_  
_Eames_

**-ooo-**

_**Letter #96**_

**April 4, 2013**  
**From Charleston, South Carolina**

_Eames,_

_What I do with my life is my own business. I'm sorry that I'm always busy, but I_ do _have a marked interest in _eating. _And before you say anything, your cover was blown in Rio because of _your _mistake, not a fault in my research. _

_The research that _you _said I should take a_ break_ from._

_Arthur DeLacey_

**-ooo-**

_**Letter #97**_

**April 26, 2013**

_Mr. DeLacey,_

_If you're so sick of me, maybe we should stop seeing each other._

_Eames_

**-ooo-**

_**Letter #98**_

**May 15, 2013**

_Mr. Eames,_

_For the first time in a long time, you've said something intelligent. I agree._

_Goodbye,_  
_Mr. DeLacey_

**-ooo-**

_**Letters #99 and #100, never sent**_

**From Buenos Aires, Argentina**

_Dear Arthur,_

_I didn't mean any of it, darling. I'm so sorry. I can't expect you to forgive me, but please know that I love you._

_I_ love _you. And I always will._

_With all my heart,_  
_James_

**-o-**

**From Charleston, South Carolina**

_Dear James,_

_It's all my fault, isn't it? Of course, it is, and I know it. If I wasn't so afraid of commitment—and that's it, you know. It wasn't you, it was me._

_The tired old line finds some truth in it this time._

_But if I wasn't so afraid to tell you, to admit to myself that I_ love_ you, then maybe things would be simpler. Maybe we would still be together._

_It really doesn't matter, does it? We've said our goodbyes, and we've moved on._

_I will never send this letter._

_But I love you, James, and I always will._

_Arthur_

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Yes, I cheated on the relationship stage. But I've never been good at writing breakup fights, anyway. Never. But I hope you enjoyed!

Please review!


	3. Warnings are sounding, will you not hear

I hope none of you reading this chapter have weak stomachs, because it's a tad bit violent. But hey, you all wanted the zombies to show up, right?

Thanks again to my sister for being a wonderful beta. :)

**EDIT: I'm so sorry! It looks like chapter 2 was reposted last night. It's all fixed, now. Sorry**!

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**June 1, 2013: five months before the Outbreak**

_**'Global MedCare Develops a Vaccine for Dementia'**_ Arthur's morning paper announced, headline bold against the gray of the front page. Uninterestedly, he skimmed through the article, not much feeling like reading it. He didn't much feel like doing anything, lately, a trend his friends and family were beginning to find…worrying.

It had been less than two weeks since the disastrous end of his…relationship with James Eames, _Cobb's_ conman friend.

The article started by talking about dementia—what it was, what caused it, how many people had it…Arthur was surprised to see that in 2006, over 30 million people were diagnosed. Intrigued, he began reading the story with a little bit more attention. Research had always taken his mind off of Eames.

Maybe that had been the problem.

Sighing, he shook his head to clear it and read on. It turned out that Global MedCare was releasing the vaccine that very day, but only on limited release to those who already had dementia, or those who were thirty or over and predisposed to it.

The vaccine remade body tissue by boosting the body's need for protein. People would have to take daily supplements, but it sure beat memory loss. Arthur smiled slightly, always amazed at the progress the world could make.

Maybe he'd look into getting it, when it became readily available to the public.

**-oooxooo-**

**July 6, 2013: four months before the Outbreak**

"I'm going to twenty-nine this year," Arthur sighed quietly from where he sat, bored, behind the counter of the weapons shop. "Didn't I say I'd be out of Charleston by now? Wasn't that my plan? Why does _nothing_ ever go the way I—" He aggravatedly rubbed at his temple and flipped the top of a silver lighter open and closed with his thumb, trying not to think too much about everything that had gone wrong.

He put it away with a pang of sadness in his heart, turning instead to focus on Mr. Harrison, who was in again trying to find the rope Arthur had led him to two days ago. The same rope Arthur had shown him to last week. And last month.

He really didn't want to know what the man needed that much rope for.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Harrison," he said with a smile as the man came up to the counter half an hour later, his desired coils of rope tucked under his arm. Dealing with people was annoying, but all in all, working at the shop wasn't too bad. He got to observe all types of people, and he had plenty of time to work on his computer while they wandered around until they bought something or left.

"Hello…_Arthur_," the man said, one eye slightly wide and the other squinted. "If that is, indeed, really you."

"Yes, I'm still me. Just like last week. Now, are you all set?" Arthur asked, and Mr. Harrison's face broke into a smile.

"Oh good, good. Yes, I'm all set. You can never have enough rope. Nope, never enough rope."

It was the same conversation they'd had the week before, and Arthur suddenly wondered if the man had Alzheimer's or something. That might explain the repeat buys…

"You can never be too sure about people," Harrison confided as he set the rope on the counter. "My wife went crazy today and insisted that I get that new vaccine they're offering. I told her I didn't want it, but…well, she set the appointment up tomorrow, anyway. Some people."

"Yeah, some people," Arthur agreed with a smile. He kind of liked Mr. Harrison. At least their conversations beyond the greeting and the rope were never predictable. Harrison had a unique view of the world.

"Well," said the elderly gentleman when Arthur was done ringing him up. "You have a nice day, now. And if they start coming for you, well…you let me know and I'll take care of them."

"You have a nice day, too," Arthur said with a grin, and waved as the crazy old man left. "I hope the vaccine works for you," he said when Harrison was out of earshot. "The world needs more people like you."

**-oooxooo-**

**October 30, 2013: The Outbreak**

It started small. The first Arthur saw of it was at a party. He went into the kitchen for a drink to find a middle-aged couple eating a package of raw hamburger. When he asked them what was wrong, they just kind of stared at him and licked their fingers, saying they were _hungry,_ that's all.

The first Eames saw of it was on the news, a story about some woman in New York who'd been found eating her dog. It was mildly disturbing, but not enough to panic anyone. She got bussed to a madhouse and that was the end of that.

It was three days later that the first human was found with chunks bitten out of their neck.

An isolated incident, the papers and the news said. Nothing to worry about. But then it happened again, and again, until most of the major cities of the world were all just one _isolated incident._

**-oooxooo-**

**November 4, 2013: Present Day, eighteen hours earlier**

Arthur watched, shocked, when he saw on the news that Shanghai had been quarantined with more than 22 million people still inside. This disease, this—this _whatever it was_ was spreading fast. Too fast to contain. From what Arthur could tell from the research he'd thrown himself into, it seemed to be emerging rapidly and unpredictably all over the world.

The only connection was the vaccine.

It had taken some digging—more digging than even _Arthur_ was used to—to discover an incomplete formula for the inoculation, but what he _had_ found made his heart stop dead in his chest. According to the chemical equations he'd run in his head, the vaccine would increase the body's need for protein to rebuild, repair, and strengthen brain and muscle tissue. People were only supposed to need to take protein supplements to keep up with the body's new requirements.

But it looked like they'd moved onto another source of protein.

What was worse was that the vaccine had altered their brain chemistry, turning them into smart, emotionless predators. It started with a headache, reports said. Then irritability, and a fever, and then…There was really nothing to distinguish them from the other people around them, besides slightly grayish skin and glassed-over eyes.

Well, that and the _blood_ around their mouths.

The next city locked down was Tokyo, the news said. And then it was New York. Then Paris. He was cleaning out the weapons store with the radio on when the anchor reported that it was just in that Buenos Aires had been closed, and Arthur tried to breathe around his heart, which was lodged in his throat and trying valiantly to escape.

_The last time Cobb had talked to Eames, the conman had been in Buenos Aires._

Trying to not panic too much, Arthur shoved the last of the ammo into the backpack, reaching for another one to load the knives into. They sold _big-ass knives_ here, so he had everything he could want.

He looked up when the bell above the door chimed.

"We're not open," he said automatically, store-reflexes still ingrained. And then he shook his head and turned to the customer, because _hell,_ if there were people running around trying to _eat_ other people, who was he to begrudge anyone the weapons he wasn't taking with him?

"I'm just here for rope," came a reply from the back shelves, and Arthur froze. "Where was it again? Oh Arthur, you know I can never remember."

And for a minute, Arthur let himself relax and believe that maybe Mr. Harrison had held out against his hell-spawn wife and not gotten the vaccine, maybe he was still normal in this emerging chaos. That minute was all it took for the man to appear from the shadows and tackle Arthur from the side.

Shocked, Arthur had only a second to twist his body to avoid both hitting his head on the granite counter and the _teeth_ aiming for the junction of his neck and shoulder.

"Jesus _Christ!_" he gasped out, hands on Harrison's shoulders. The vaccine had done its job well: Harrison, frail as he looked, had enough muscle to hold Arthur down with seemingly incredible ease. "Mr. Harrison, stop! Think about what you're doing!"

But he already knew it was useless. He managed to flip the man off of him using a move his father taught him for wrestling with his brother, back when he was young. He wrenched his shoulder in the delivery, though, because he wasn't even _close_ to being in the right position to attempt it normally.

He was just glad it worked.

With Harrison pinned under him, Arthur hesitated. What now? Surely there had to be _something_ he could do, someone he could _call_, a cure, maybe… But he ran out of time to think when the man below him shoved him off, _hard_. Arthur landed awkwardly, back to a shelf with one leg pinned underneath him.

His vision swam a little from his head's impact with the wood.

Harrison rolled onto his stomach and stood, leaping at Arthur before the hacker could really comprehend that the elderly man had _moved_. Arthur stopped thinking and let his instincts take over. Frantically reaching behind him, Arthur found a metal fire extinguisher.

The first swing hit Mr. Harrison in the temple.

Breathless, Arthur struggled to his feet, watching Harrison with trepidation. It seemed that he wasn't moving—and then he was up again, and coming at Arthur with a wild look in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

This time, Arthur swung the fire extinguisher and didn't stop until Harrison's head was a bloody mess barely connected to his shoulders. And after the eternity Arthur lived in a second, what was left of Mr. Harrison crumpled to the ground and didn't move again.

Arthur was sure he could hear someone screaming. Someone far off. After a second he realized that it was his lungs, screaming against the breath he hadn't known he was holding. For another minute he was afraid to release it, worried that he may lose the tenuous grasp he had on his calm if he allowed himself the opportunity to make any noise whatsoever.

"Fuck," he breathed, finally. "Fuck. _Fuck_." He let the bloody fire extinguisher slip from his limp fingers and onto the floor. It landed with a loud metallic thud that was swallowed up in the silence of the realization that _he'd just killed a man._

He pulled out his phone and shakily dialed the number he'd sworn would never mar his Blackberry screen again, because he'd just _killed a man_. There were plenty of people he could have called to help him, but there was only one person he wanted to talk to at the moment.

"Godammit, Eames, you son of a bitch," he muttered almost hysterically, pacing back and forth until he caught sight of Harrison's body and froze. Then, he closed his eyes and vaulted over the counter, sliding down to sit on the floor, knees to his chest. He sucked in a shaky breath and pillowed his forehead on the arm he'd laid across them, not looking at the line of blood winding around the edge of the wood paneling. "James, you had better fucking pick up—"

_"We're sorry, but the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected or is out of service. Please try the number again or contact your service provider for more—"_

Arthur swore and hung up, fighting the urge to yell and throw his phone across the room. He took a breath and tried to compose himself. This was the first time he'd ever killed someone who wasn't made of paper with a target drawn on them—shot, yes, but _killed?_. He wasn't sure if he wanted the reality of that to sink into him yet, so he switched his attention to other matters.

Okay, so Eames's number was out of service. That could mean anything from he'd switched to a new phone to he'd been killed in Buenos Aires and his phone had been destroyed.

…So, Eames had a new number.

Arthur let out a forceful huff of air and stood. He straightened his tie and didn't flinch when he saw Harrison's body lying collapsed on his floor. _'It was self-defense,'_ he told himself. _'The world is going to hell, Arthur. He was trying to _eat _you.' _After a minute, he shoved all thoughts of it into the back of his mind and focused on the job at hand, something he'd always been good at.

First, he needed a plan.

_'Call Cobb,'_ his brain suggested immediately, and he cursed himself for not thinking of it earlier. Cobb, Mal, and the kids were home, as far as he knew. He hoped they were all right. Taking a moment to retrieve the radio that had fallen off the counter during the struggle, Arthur thought through his next few moves.

He'd already talked to his family, and they were safe in rural France, for the time being at least. He didn't feel like he had to worry about them: all of them were weapons-handy.

Next, his friends. The only ones he could think of off hand were Cobb and Eames and…_Ariadne._

Swearing, Arthur dialed Ariadne's number. The Cobbs and Eames could take care of themselves, but Ariadne was just a college student. He'd met her when he was younger and living in Paris for a time with his mother. They'd been neighbors for a while, him in his sweaters at fourteen and she a seven-year-old with bouncing brown pigtails. They'd met up again when she took her junior year abroad to France, visiting the castles in the Loire River Valley, and soon they'd grown into the email-every-few-hours, let's-call-and-chat-about-your-life-even-though-nothing's-changed close friends.

_Ring, ring, ring._

_Ring, ring, ring—click._

_"You've reached Ariadne Spellman. Please leave a message, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!"_

He didn't bother leaving a message. Instead, he grabbed his packs of weapons and left the store without looking back.

**-ooo-**

When everything was loaded in the car, Arthur took a moment—one, single moment—to tell Mr. Harrison that he was sorry, for everything. Then, out of ingrained habit, he checked one last time to make sure the sign was flipped to 'closed', and then slid into the driver's seat.

Though it was far from being counted among America's biggest, Charleston was the second largest city in South Carolina. The city had at least five Alzheimer's care centers, and many more assisted living or nursing homes that would have gotten the vaccine. There were many predisposed relatives.

The results showed in the chaos on the streets.

People were running, screaming, crying. Some were praying. Some were being eaten. Some just sat and stared. Arthur tried not to look at anything but the road, and finally he made it out of the center of the city, leaving behind the slaughter.

The quiet was almost worse.

There were a few scattered bodies, some on the lawns, some draped over fences, all of them mutilated, ripped apart. The worst ones were on the driveways, or hanging out of cars. The closest to safety, yet brutally denied it in the last crucial seconds.

Somewhere off in someone's backyard, a radio blared faint warnings for citizens to stay inside, stay away from friends or loved ones who were acting strangely, lock the doors and don't let anyone in. It faded as Arthur drove on.

At the beginning of the highway, blinking signs had been set up that read: _'State-enacted quarantine. Do not attempt to leave the city.' _But there was no one around to enforce it, and Arthur wondered if the guard had been that splash of blood on the bottom left corner of the sign.

He left the city.

After a few bare miles, there were many cars. Most of them were empty, with windows broken or doors torn off. They lay stopped at odd angles, like they'd swerved wildly before coming to a rest. Many of them still had their keys in the ignition.

Arthur pressed his lips together in a thin line. He'd have to leave his car to move some of them, and that wasn't a prospect he was looking forward to. But there was no other way. He had to get to Pittsburgh to find Ariadne, and that meant getting onto I-26 W no matter what.

Reaching into the backseat, Arthur pulled out a Winchester rifle and two handguns; a Glock 17 9mm and a Berretta 98 9mm. He checked to make sure all were loaded, and then got out of the car. Slinging the rifle across his back and holstering the Glock, Arthur pocketed the keys. He didn't see anyone around, but he wouldn't take the chance of having the car—and his supplies—stolen.

The first car he went to was a black BMW, passenger side door hanging only by one hinge, back windshield broken. The backseat was soaked with blood, but the car was empty. Arthur drove it off the road and then moved on to the next car. It was a silver Toyota, similarly damaged and stained.

But unlike the BMW, there were still people inside.

Arthur couldn't hold back his cringe when he saw them. There was a woman in the driver's seat, slumped over the wheel with her bleached-blonde hair plastered to the side of her throat, or what was left of it. The entire left side of her neck and upper arm had been ripped away. The blood gleamed wetly on the white of her bones.

The two children in the backseat had fared even worse. The girl, who looked to be about five, was torn open from her collar bone to her waist, skin peeled back and most of her organs gone. The younger boy was strapped into the car seat. His arms and legs had been pulled off.

The passenger side door was open, and there were smears of blood on both the outside and inside. Arthur tried not to wonder if the husband had been dragged out and mutilated, or if he'd been the _mutilator_.

And, though he didn't want to, Arthur walked around to the driver's side and leaned in to unbuckle the woman's seatbelt so he could pull her out. He jerked back so violently that he nearly stumbled off the road when she gave a low moan. She stirred, and then blearily raised her head.

He couldn't believe she was still alive.

"Ma'am?" he asked, taking a hesitant step forward. "Ma'am, don't move. I'm going to get you out of here, all right? And then we'll get you some help. So, just hang on for a minute while I get your seatbelt off."

She looked at him with glassy eyes, her face pale and drawn. "My…children. How are my children?" The words were hollow, like she was in shock or already knew the answer. He didn't want to tell her.

"They didn't make it," he said softly. She shifted again, and Arthur could see the fresh blood leaking down her left arm. "I'm going to go around to the other side, and we'll get you out of here, okay? Just hang on, ma'am."

He returned to the passenger side and leaned in to the car to hit the release for her seatbelt, and she just watched him with those same, glassy eyes. They sent a chill down his spine. Afterward, he returned to the driver's side and helped her out of the car. She was shaky on her feet and supported herself on his shoulder, swaying dangerously from side to side.

"Here, let's sit you down and let me take a look at your neck," Arthur said. "I'm not a doctor, but…" _'Maybe,'_ he thought, _'the damage isn't as bad as I'd first suspected.'_ It was still amazing that she'd _lived,_ but Arthur knew she wouldn't last much longer if he did nothing.

"Did you get the vaccine?" he asked nonchalantly as he set her down on a rock by the side of the road. She looked like she was just in shock. Her stood up and went around to her left side to get a better look at her neck.

He gasped when he saw the extent of the mutilation.

"No," she said, "but my husband did. What's wrong?" she asked, tipping her head a little to look at him. "What is it?"

For the minute it took his brain to comprehend what he was seeing, Arthur just stood there staring at her neck and wondering how someone could be alive when their carotid artery was bitten through. It was when he'd finally realized that no one _could_ live through that that she bared her teeth and dove at him.

Before he could even think about it, he'd fired two shots into her skull in rapid succession. She jerked, but didn't stop her advance. The third bullet tore off the top of her head, and she finally fell, twitching, to the ground. He fired another into her exposed brain, just to be safe.

"Shit," he breathed, and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I thought it was just the vaccine that was making people crazy." But, if he _believed_ her, then she hadn't gotten it. "Fuck." He holstered his other gun and turned back to the car, even more determined now to get to Pittsburgh. God, he hoped Ariadne was okay.

Checking back once more to make sure that the woman wasn't moving, Arthur returned to the car, intent on getting it out of the way. He still had ten hours—more, if this was any indication of what the rest of the road would be like—to drive to Pittsburgh from Charleston. That was also assuming he wouldn't have to fight people for the cars he wanted to move.

With a sigh and another careful glance around, Arthur slid into the driver's seat and turned the key. The engine started, loudly, and Arthur almost missed the soft cry. He barely suppressed the instinct to slam on the brakes, and instead glanced up to check the rear view mirror.

The little girl was trying to unlatch her seatbelt.

He met her glassy eyes in the mirror, watched her mouth 'help' silently over and over, because her lungs were torn open and she could no longer speak. She got the belt undone just as Arthur launched the car off the road. He rolled out of the door just seconds before the girl's teeth snapped in the air where his neck had just been.

His worst suspicions were confirmed.

Taking a deep breath, he drew his gun and raised it at the child monster inside the vehicle. When she caught sight of it, her eyes widened and her bottom lip began to tremble.

"Please!" she begged, her lungs somehow miraculously healed. "Please don't kill me! Please! I'll be good, I swear!" He hesitated, just for a second. Long enough to see the victory in her eyes as she leapt at him from the driver's seat.

He fired two shots rapidly into her head, knocking her back. He watched, sick, as she crumpled against the wheel of the car and stopped moving. Out of pure paranoia, he shot her two more times, just to be sure.

He checked the magazine of his gun out of nervous habit, even though he knew he still had twelve rounds left. After confirming it, Arthur slid the magazine back into place and turned to head to his car. The road was clear, now, and he needed to get going.

He was stopped halfway there by a long wail.

It stood the hair on the back of his neck straight up, but not from any reason he could easily identify. After a second, he realized that it was because the wail was cold, emotionless. It wasn't a cry of sorrow, or of pain.

Arthur glanced back at the car.

Inside, the limbless two-year-old boy in the car seat was staring at him. He wasn't moving—couldn't, Arthur supposed—just staring, mouth open in a perfectly round circle.

And then the cry trailed into a word. "Hungry," the child screamed, eyes glazed over and voice even; loud, but neutral. "Hungry." And that scared Arthur more than Mr. Harrison tackling him. More than the woman with her neck bitten open, and more than the girl coming at him, trying to keep the scraps of her chest together.

His Beretta barked twice, the first bullet shattering the window and ricocheting, the next finding its mark in the child's forehead. The monotone stopped, and Arthur closed his eyes.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he breathed, because now everything he'd hoped wasn't true was confirmed. It looked like the vaccine had more effects than he'd wanted to believe. It could be spread by biting—maybe the infected somehow produced the vaccine naturally? In saliva, maybe? The dead could rise, devoid of all emotion or humanity. Unable to feel pain.

But, the vaccine had done its job.

The infected remembered things. Everything. They could not feel, but they remembered what emotion felt like, what it _sounded_ like. They remembered their friends and family as easy targets, not as loved ones. Worse, it seemed like they would probably remember how to act human, how to be normal enough to get their families close enough to _eat._

Arthur threw up in the middle of the road, and then got into his car. He had a long way to go.

* * *

Dun dun dun! The end, for this week. xD Thanks so much to all of you who reviewed, and please, keep doing it!


	4. And it is only one step to the grave

Voila, chapter 4! I hope you enjoy! Much comtinued thanks to VergOfTowels, my amazing beta! And thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! :)

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* * *

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November 4, 2013: Present Day, eighteen hours earlier

"Bloody _hell,_" Eames gasped as he fired another round into the face of the oncoming woman. His apartment building was overrun with them—the zombies that the news had been blaring warnings about in six languages before the station had been lost to screams and static.

He'd just come back from a job, intending to lie low in his apartment in Pittsburgh, or, if that didn't work, to grab a few supplies and head somewhere safe. He had _not_ expected to get pinned down in his room by fifteen _crazies_. It was only the handgun he kept on him at all times that had saved him from getting eaten on the way up to the arsenal in his room.

He glanced back over his shoulder at the girl he'd picked up in the second floor hallway. She was still gripping the third-grade soccer trophy she'd been using to beat the infected off of her. Its marble base was slick with blood.

"Pet, what's your name, then?" he asked her, trying to prevent the weight of the shock from crushing her. She'd been just _sitting_ there for too long, staring at the puddle of blood forming on the floor.

She jumped, startled. "What? Oh, I'm Ariadne. Ariadne Spellman."

"That's a pretty name," he told her, grunting slightly as the zombies ran into the door again. "Now, can you help me barricade this? We need some time to plan before they break in and eat us."

It wasn't the most confidence-inducing speech he'd ever made, but she nodded and stood, walking to the bookcase and pushing it over to the door. He helped her get it into position.

When they were relatively safe, he wiped his gore-smeared hand on his pants (the situation had once called for pistol-whipping) and held it out to her. "My name's Eames."

"Nice to meet you," she said, and shook it. "I wish the circumstances were better, but the gesture is appreciated."

"So, what have you heard?" he questioned. "My radio cut out just as I entered the city. Has there been any news of more towns being quarantined?"

"Oh, yeah. A lot. I don't think the government is doing anything else about this whole thing. But they'll come and help us, right? I mean, they can't just _leave_ us here, can they?"

Eames sighed and met her frightened eyes. "I'm not going to lie to you, Ariadne. I think they're probably going to start fire-bombing soon. I barely got out of Buenos Aires in time to avoid getting toasted there."

She buried her face in her hands.

"Now now," Eames said, rubbing her back. "It's not all that bad. We're alive, aren't we?"

After a minute, she raised her head and nodded. Her eyes were clear and filled with resolve. "We have to get out of here. If they're closing down big cities, I have to warn some of my friends."

"Speaking of that," Eames said. "You haven't any news about Charleston, have you? Charleston, South Carolina?" He hoped his tone wasn't too desperate. He didn't want to give anything away, even if she was only a harmless student. He didn't know her, and he couldn't afford to have weaknesses.

But she shook her head. "No, nothing. The last I heard was that they'd closed off LA. Then the station cut out." She wrapped her arms around herself. "Do you think there's still a world out there?"

She looked like she was desperately trying not to listen to the pounding on the door, the pleading to be let in, the _Oh God, please help me_ from outside.

"Of course there is," Eames said. "The government will get all of this cleared up, and everything will go back to normal. You'll see."

He was rewarded with a grateful smile and hoped that he wouldn't be proved a liar.

"God," said Ariadne suddenly, heaving a large sigh. "This is like every bad zombie movie I've ever seen."

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, pet, but my heart already belongs to another," Eames said, standing and removing a pistol from the trunk he'd brought into the room. He checked the magazine and replaced the cartridges with rubber bullets while Ariadne blinked owlishly at him, confused.

"What do you mean?"

Eames shot her a roguish grin over his shoulder, flipping the safety on and off a few times to make sure it slid quickly. This was one of his older models.

"Well, in every bad horror movie, the main girl ends up with the male lead. It's practically _destiny._ Except, of course, if they're related." He gave her a cheeky smile, and she smiled back. "However, I'm off the market."

"She's a lucky woman, then," Ariadne said, and Eames hid his grin by turning back to the gun. "Is she in Charleston? Is that why you asked?"

"Something like that," Eames said, smile dropping a little. He quickly covered the slip with, "Now, Ariadne, do you know how to shoot?"

Mutely, she shook her head. He held out the gun to her.

"Well, now's a good time to learn, right?"

**-oooxooo-**

**November 4, 2013: Present Day, thirteen hours earlier**

_Click. Krzzt._

_Click. Kzzzzzrtz._

_"—ust in, the disease seems to be caused by the vaccine for dem—kzzrt—citizens are warned to stay in their houses—"_

_Click. Kxxzzt._

_"'—death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?' But take heart in the Lord, my children. He will not desert those who truly believe. 'For the living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing; they have no—kzzrt—reward, and even the mem—kxxzrt—them is forgotten. Their love, their hate and their jealousy have long since vanished; never again will they have a part in—kzzrt—ing that happens under the sun… Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the grave, where you are going—kzzrt…kxxzrtz—neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisd—'"_

_Click. Kzzxxrt._

_"—among those cities quarantined are Istanbul, San Fran—kzzrtx—Honolulu—"_

Arthur turned up the volume. It was hard to make out the names of the cities over the static, but this was the best station he'd come across so far. He was just passing around Charlotte, North Carolina after driving for five hours, and he was still only about a third of the way there. There had been more obstacles then he had thought there would be.

His suit was ruined. The gray vest now had a layer of congealing brown soaked into it, and his pants and tie were equally splattered. He hadn't even stopped to think about what his shirt looked like.

He had taken a minute to wipe the blood off his face, though.

_"—Rio de Janeiro, Mosc—kzzrtx—eijing, Los Angele—kzzrt…kzzxxrt…"_

Arthur lost the station. His hands tightened on the wheel, and then he pulled out his phone, wondering how he could have been so _stupid._ He'd been so absorbed with getting to Ariadne that he'd forgotten to call the Cobbs. Arthur knew that Dom hadn't gotten the vaccine, he just hoped that his friends hadn't still been in the city when the quarantine was called.

_Ring, ring, ring._

_Ring, ring, ring._

_Click._

_"You've reached Dominic C—Hello?"_

It took Arthur a second to recognize Cobb's voice. "Dom? It's Arthur. How are you? _Where_ are you?"

_"In LA,_" the thief answered, voice sounding hoarse. He sounded like he'd been—

"Oh, fucking hell," Arthur breathed. "How's Mal? The kids? Miles and Marie? Fuck, Cobb, talk to me. How _is_ everyone?"

_"Fine. They're at the house, with the doors and windows blocked._" Cobb was starting to sound better, more focused.

"Then what's wrong? Cobb, please. I need you to tell me."

_"I—I locked her in the pantry, Arthur. She was screaming earlier, but she's quiet now. She—God, she came at the kids. I should have noticed earlier, but I—"_ Cobb broke off with what sounded like a sob.

Arthur slammed on the brakes, stopping in the middle of the road. He closed his eyes and leaned back into his seat, feeling the tears burning behind his eyelids. "Oh hell. Mal got the vaccine, didn't she? Fuck, Dom, I'm sorry. I'm so _sorry."_

Now that he was listening for it, Arthur could just make out the rhythmic pounding in the background. _'It must be Mal, beating on the door,' _Arthur thought. He tried not to picture her, half-crazed, eyes glassed over, skin much too pale. Tried not to think of her…_eating_. Eating Dom, or James, or Phillipa. Oh _God_.

_"I couldn't do it, Arthur. I had the gun in my waistband when she came at them with the knife, but I—I just _couldn't. _She didn't hurt them, but what if she_ had? _What if I'd _lost _them?_" He sounded almost on the edge of hysteria, and Arthur didn't blame him.

"What about Miles and Marie, Dom? Did they get it?" He heard Cobb take a shuddering breath, and allowed himself a moment to panic. Miles and Marie had to be all right—

_"They're fine. Miles wasn't at risk for Alzheimer's and Marie said she'd sooner go senile than let them inject her with 'all those chemicals'. She said she'd get a later version, once it had been out for a while. But Mal—" _Cobb hesitated again, his words faltering.

"Dom, you need to be strong now. I know it's hard. _God_, I know you miss her. But you have to be strong for your family. You need to get them out of LA. I don't think quarantine is the government's permanent solution. You need to get out of there."

Cobb breathed in slowly, and then exhaled. _"You're right, as always, Arthur. We're going to try to leave tonight. I'll call you when we get out."_

"Wait," Arthur said, catching Cobb before he hung up and hating himself for what he was going to say next. "Have you heard anything from Eames?"

There was a long moment of silence from Cobb.

_"No, Arthur, I haven't. I'm sorry."_

"It's nothing, really. Just thought I'd ask," Arthur said, trying to keep the raw panic out of his voice. _Anything_ could have happened to Eames, that bastard. He never was careful enough or took good enough care of himself. He was probably half-eaten in a ditch somewhere and—

Firmly, Arthur forced those thoughts out of his mind. Eames was fine, because if he wasn't, Arthur was going to _kill him._ "Dom," he said, keeping his voice steady. "One more thing."

_"Yeah, Arthur?"_

"Um, I—well." He took a breath. "Don't kill her. You don't have to. She can't come after you while she's in the pantry, and you never know. There might be a cure."

_"Yeah, you're right. You're right, Arthur."_ Cobb sighed. _"Where are you? Or where are you headed?"_

"Right now I'm on my way to Pittsburgh. I have a friend there who might need my help."

_"I wish you the best of luck,"_ Cobb said. _"I'll try to keep in contact. Until the cell towers stop working, that is."_

"Thanks for that cheery thought," Arthur said. "Good luck to you, too. Stay safe."

_"You, too."_

Click.

**-oooxooo-**

**November 4, 2013: Present Day, three hours earlier**

"Okay," said Ariadne. "We know that the sickness comes from the vaccine, and that when people are bitten by the…fuck, the _zombies,_ they come back from the dead a lot faster than it took for just the vaccine to turn the original ones. I mean, we're talking like, ten minutes, _max._ And the only way to kill them is to do extensive damage to their brains."

"Pretty much, yeah," Eames agreed. "I'd say that they've developed a highly concentrated solution of the vaccine in their saliva. That's what brings their bitten victims to life again, and allows them to heal." He shook his head and thought of what he'd seen from the window—the blood, the guts, the people screaming as they were _torn apart_ by blank-faced attackers—while he and Ariadne had been trying to take it all in. "But the bite victims go crazy, not just emotionless."

"Maybe they remember being eaten," Ariadne said, a tone of wondering, horrified pity in her voice.

"Maybe," Eames agreed, sadly.

The zombies seemed to have lost interest in their door, but there was never any such thing as being too careful. He set his third cleaned handgun down on the coffee table. "God, you know, if Ar—" He shook his head. "If a friend of mine were here, then he'd know everything there was to know about this whole mess."

Ariadne smiled. "Yeah, I know someone like that, too. He always had to have his nose in everyone else's business." Her smiled dropped a little. "Do you have a cell phone? I left mine at school. I—I want to make sure he's all right."

"Sure." Eames tossed her his cell. He had tried to call Arthur many times already, but he must have changed his phone number, because it was no longer in service. He _must_ have.

After a few minutes, Ariadne handed the phone back, face grim. "No answer. What if he's—"

"I'm sure, whoever he is, that he's fine," Eames said with a reassuring smile, and Ariadne returned it after a second or two.

"Yeah, you're right. I'm sure he's okay."

**-ooo-**

Arthur stopped to get gas in Fairmont, North Carolina. In usual driving time, he was about two hours from Pittsburgh, but he figured it would actually probably be three, maybe closer to four hours before he got there.

The gas station's fluorescent lights were still on, burning into the darkness of the twilight with a cheerfulness that seemed too out-of-place to Arthur after the day he'd had. It looked to be vacant inside, but Arthur wasn't taking any chances as he went in to flip the switch to start the gas pumps. He holstered his Glock and rechecked the ammo in his Beretta, and then got out of the car.

The town around him was quiet, and he tried not to wonder what had happened to the 2700+ residents. How many had gotten the vaccine? How many had gotten…eaten? He forced himself not to dwell on that as he pushed the glass door open with his back and swung his gun in a wide arc to cover the inside of the store.

He felt his stomach clench when he saw what was inside.

Lying sprawled on the floor were ten people, pools of blood congealing slowly around them. Arthur was immediately on alert. If the blood was still congealing, then these people had died less than ten minutes ago. And that meant he wasn't alone.

He quickly ran through his options in his head.

First, he should destroy the heads of the people on the floor and get rid of any possibility of an attack from there. However, any gunshot might alert the thing that had bitten them. If there were ten people killed here, it was highly likely that there would be more than one zombie roaming around. Frustrated, Arthur kept his eyes mostly on the dead, but his gaze kept flickering toward the small aisles of the store.

Finally, Arthur decided he'd risk it. Better to be rid of the enemy he knew about than to worry about the one that he couldn't affect now. And besides, he thought he'd seen one of the bodies twitch.

He fired two shots into the heads of each person and slid the empty magazine out of his gun. The honest-to-God _roar_ from behind the counter caught him off guard, and he slipped a little while slotting the next set of bullets into the gun, dropping the magazine onto the floor.

He didn't have time to pick it up, so instead he just let the gun fall to the floor as well, retreating down an aisle as he pulled out his Glock. He fired, but missed as the zombie vaulted over the counter. His face was dripping blood, and Arthur supposed there must be a cashier behind there. He cursed himself for not checking. The zombie looked to be an athlete—a runner, maybe. He was fast.

But Arthur was fast, too.

The athlete charged Arthur, but got caught in the shoulder by Arthur's next shot. Unfazed, he paused and grinned, and Arthur could see the strips of skin caught in his teeth. Arthur took another few steps back to get a better firing angle, but never got to pull the trigger because another zombie chose that moment to come barreling across the store at his back.

His only warning before the infected woman's teeth would have ripped into his flesh was the light tap of her step as she jumped.

Arthur swore and managed to side-step the brunt of her attack, but her shoulder caught his, knocking him dangerously off-balance. He didn't even know where she'd _come from_, since he was sure there hadn't been anyone in the aisles. The bathroom, then? He didn't have much time to think about it, because both zombies were about to come at him in a matter of seconds.

He took aim and hit the man right in the forehead, dropping him, but he missed the woman when she jerked suddenly to the side in anticipation of his shot. He noted the police uniform and cursed again as he was forced to run. Turning more fully into the aisle, Arthur sprinted for the back of the store. He quickly gunned down the infected child that was eating a middle-aged woman by the fire exit, and then fired into the skull of her unfortunate victim.

He could hear the pound of the infected policewoman's footsteps as they came down the aisle, and he pivoted to train his gun on her. He wasn't expecting her to throw the soda into his eyes, so he was unprepared when it happened. As he flinched back from the burning, she easily twisted the gun from his hand. It was harder for her to get her teeth into his neck.

Fighting past the pain in his eyes and the slight fuzziness of his vision, Arthur managed to pull back before she could bite him. When he saw the fire axe in a case by the door, he didn't hesitate.

He managed to turn away from her and didn't hesitate. The glass shattered as he slammed into it with his elbow, and he whipped out the axe, heedless of the shards. A quick pivot on his left foot and—

The axe removed the infected woman's head from her shoulders in one rough, gory hack. Arthur made sure to keep his eyes and mouth closed as her blood sprayed onto his face, wary of any contact with infected bodily fluids.

He brought his sleeve up and wiped enough of the blood from his face to see, and then he went and retrieved his Glock from the floor. He slid into the bathroom, cleared it, and then washed the rest of the gore from his face and hands. When he was finished, he stood up and regarded his stained suit with disgust.

He exited the bathroom and went to the counter, flipping the pump control as he passed by on his way to the door. He brought the axe with him—it had proved to be a good close-combat weapon, and he needed more of those.

Picking up his abandoned gun and bullets on the way. Arthur returned to his car and filled up the tank. His senses were on high alert, determined that he would get caught off-guard again. Luckily, nothing else leaped out at him before the car was done fueling and he got into the driver's seat and started the engine.

He had to get to Pittsburgh.

**-oooxooo-**

**November 4, 2013: Present Day, half an hour earlier**

"We need to get out of here."

Ariadne looked up from the couch to where Eames was pacing. Back and forth, back and forth. They had showered and changed clothes, with Ariadne borrowing one of Eames's old T-shirts from college that had shrunk enough in the wash to_almost_ fit her. Almost.

"Out of here? But aren't there hordes of zombies out there?" She fidgeted and tugged at the end of the shirt. "Aren't we safer inside?"

"Until they break down the door, or we run out of food," Eames said. "No, we're much safer on the road. I have a feeling there will be fewer zombies on the highway." He shot her a smile and ceased his pacing. "I have a little hideout in Sewickley Heights, about half an hour from here. Small town, probably few infected. There's food there, and it's pretty defendable."

"…I see," Ariadne said. "And, what is it that you do, again? The guns, the hideouts…are you a spy or something?"

"Lord no, Ariadne," Eames replied with a grin. "I'm a criminal. Now, shall we pack?"

* * *

No, they haven't met up yet. Soon, though! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see you next week!


	5. How near is your dying, o faltering man?

Hey everyone! Happy Friday. After a completely exhausting yesterday, I can think of no better thing to do than to bring you Zombies chapter five!

A huge thanks to VergOfTowels for smacking me out of repetitive combat! :)

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* * *

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November 4, 2013: Present Day, half an hour earlier

The apartment building loomed before Arthur like a skeleton; a bare, empty shell. He could already make out the shapes of at least five infected by the doors, and the street before it was so packed with wrecked cars that driving was definitely out of the question—so he set his mind on a stealthy approach and parked a ways away, hoping not to draw attention to himself.

He was tired. _God_, he was tired. But his mind refused to rest until he found out if Ariadne was all right, and by the looks of the building, she was either gone or…_gone_. He shook his head, focusing instead on loading and holstering his guns.

As a last minute thought, he picked up the axe as well.

He was forced to simply abandon his Beretta when the bullets ran out. He didn't have time to reload, and he was too busy dodging the attack of an oncoming zombie to worry about holstering it properly. The zombie ran at him from the side, out of a patch of darkness where, on a normal day, there would have been a streetlamp illuminating the area. The zombie was half mad, snarling at him and making small noises that were too eerily close to screams for Arthur's tastes. He knocked it far enough away with the flat of his axe to take a shot.

It took two to knock it down.

He knew he had wasted a few shots, but it was already late night and quite dark. The meager light from a still-glowing neon sign wasn't lending itself to accurate vision. Wary of the shapes he could see sneaking around farther off down the shadowy street, Arthur ducked through the blood-spattered remains of the apartment building's front doors.

It was lucky for him that the few infected crowding the hall inside were too focused on the inner organs of a middle-aged woman to pay much attention to him. He dropped all of them with well-aimed shots, the narrow hallway too thin for them run at him more than two at a time.

When the last of the zombies had stopped twitching, Arthur paused to listen. He could hear what sounded like screams ringing down from the next level, echoing out from the stairway six gaping doorways away. The empty eyes of the abandoned rooms stared at him, blinking in and out of existence as the lights above guttered.

Holding his Glock more firmly, Arthur refused to admit to himself that his hand was white-knuckled on the grip from fear of what could possibly lurk just out of his view, hidden away in the dark corners of the chambers along his path.

The first two held no surprises.

From the third emerged two children, crouched and snarling and dripping gore from their mouths as they gnashed their teeth at him. He took down the first boy by firing into his eyes socket, momentarily filling the hole where the eye should have been with hot lead and blood. The second screeched at him, then, and Arthur wasn't sure whether it was from anger or loss or simply nothing at all.

He didn't care to find out.

When it ducked below the first swing of his axe, the zombie child very nearly got its teeth into Arthur's leg. He managed to dance a few short steps back, but he didn't have enough space to go at it with his axe again and it was moving too quickly towards him for him to even try to shoot it.

He kicked it in the face, instead.

The force of the blow was enough to make the zombie stagger back, its nose broken and sluggishly oozing as it bared its teeth at Arthur once again. Its face was still fixed like that as it fell to the ground with a new hole in its forehead courtesy of Arthur's gun.

The last three rooms he passed were well and truly empty, something he was thankful for as the screams from the story above grew louder.

"Please be all right, Ariadne," he whispered, taking the stairs two at a time.

He cleared the first floor.

**-ooo-**

"Does that sound like gunshots to you?" Ariadne asked, staring up from where she was carefully packing cans into a box. She turned her frightened eyes to the door. "You don't think they're using guns now, do you?"

"As far as I've observed, the undead have no taste for guns. But it's always a possibility, I suppose," Eames said with narrowed eyes. He picked up his own gun from the coffee table. "There haven't been any healthy people around for hours now, so are they killing each other? Over territory, perhaps?"

"Just like wild beasts," Ariadne sighed, and then she wrapped her arms around herself. "God, why is this happening?"

For a moment, Eames feared she would cry, but she didn't. Resolutely, she wiped her eyes and turned back to her box.

"Well, fuck this, then. Life goes on, right? I'm going to live through this."

Eames was about to smile encouragingly at her until they both heard something that made them freeze.

_"—ne? Ariadne?"_

**-ooo-**

"Ariadne!" Arthur yelled, kicking the woman in the chest and away from him, further down the empty hallway. It stumbled back, screeching, arms flailing, until coming to an abrupt halt as it collided with the door of apartment 117 and sank to the ground.

"Ariadne, are you still here?" He jumped back a few feet closer to the stairs to avoid the dive of a second zombie, one that looked to have been sixteen, maybe seventeen at most before being turned. It forced him to retreat clumsily, running into a hanging lightbulb, causing it to swing crazily and cast distracting shadows as it rocked back and forth from the impact. The light bounced around the seeming miles of open rooms, drawing his eyes to anything that looked like motion.

It made him think they were coming from everywhere.

"Ariadne!"

He fired his gun twice before it gave him the hollow sound that signaled he was out of bullets. Arthur swore violently as another zombie—a man of about thirty, once—appeared from one of the half-open doors, and he swiveled just in time to see it block the stairs he had just emerged from. With it before him and the two infected behind him, he was trapped.

Arthur angled his body sideways, trying to keep all three of the zombies in sight, but he wouldn't be able to hold all of them off, and he knew it. By the stairs, the most recent arrival grinned, blood running down its chin as it silently celebrated the victory over its prey, and lunged for Arthur's throat.

Then, suddenly, a gunshot rang out to silence the cries of the woman.

The abrupt quiet momentarily disoriented the zombie from the stairs, allowing Arthur enough time to get the axe up between them. He didn't have time to worry about exactly who was shooting right now, because he was interested in living.

When the teen fell to the mysterious shooter as well, Arthur was finally able to push the infected man far enough away from himself to decapitate, freezing the zombie's eyes open in eternal shock as the head and shoulders parted ways.

He drew his gun, leveling it at the two newcomers in the hallway, expecting a fight and knowing he was screwed if they wanted one. He was out of bullets, and they were not. It was simple logic.

Relief hit him like a shot to the chest.

_'James,'_ he thought, his frazzled mind finally latching on to something. _'Jesus Christ he's alive, he's safe, he's all right…'_ It would be embarrassing for him, later—if he was ever forced to admit it, that is—that he didn't even see Ariadne at first, too focused on seeing his…_ex_ alive and well.

"Darling, you look gorgeous as always."

**-oooxooo-**

**November 5, 2013**

"The _hell_ you are! I'm not letting _you_ take her anywhere you irresponsible—"

"Oh, _I'm_ irresponsible, am I? And who's the one who's trying to drag her into a _war zone_ to find someone she doesn't even _know?_ I'll give you a hint: It's _not me!"_

"I'm not _dragging_ her into a war zone, I'm keeping her _safe!_ At least _I'm_ reliable! You just disappear all the time, ending up _God knows where_ without so much as a _phone call—"_

"A phone call? Well the phone works both ways! You never tried to—"

_"Never tried to what?_ I must have left you a dozen messages you fucking—"

_"Guys!"_

Arthur and Eames turned, still fuming, to glare at Ariadne. A livid flush had risen into her cheeks, and she glared right back at them. Finally, she breathed in slowly and exhaled, crossing her arms over her chest.

"'She' can decide what she wants to do for herself, you know. She _is_ twenty-two."

Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his hair, knocking the already disarrayed strands further out of place. "Yes, I know. I'm sorry, Ariadne. I should have asked you what you wanted to do."

"You're right, pet," Eames agreed, but not with Arthur—no, _never_ with Arthur. "It _is_ your life. Who do you want to go with? Or would you rather strike out on your own?"

They were both looking at her expectantly, both _completely_ ignoring the other, and Ariadne let out a frustrated groan. "Oh come on, guys. It's the end of the world! The freakin' _end of the world_ and you two are turning it into some testosterone-fueled spat about _what_, exactly?" She shook her head and closed her eyes, disappointed.

When she opened them again, Arthur and Eames were looking properly chastened. Eames was gazing out the window, at anything but her and Arthur, and Arthur was adjusting his tie with his eyes downcast.

"Sorry," he said again, finally dropping the fabric and running a hand over his face. "You're right. What would you like to do?"

"Well, what are my options?" she asked. "Where are you both headed?"

"I'm headed out towards LA," Arthur answered. "I have a friend there, with a family, and I need to make sure that they're all right."

"I'm headed out to Colorado," Eames said, finally stepping away from Arthur to pick up one of the guns on the coffee table. He had already cleaned all of them, and as many of Arthur's as he could get through without the hacker snapping at him, but he was still restless. He wanted to leave _now_.

"Colorado?" asked Ariadne, a little surprised. "Not Sewickley Heights? I thought that's where you said you were headed earlier."

"That _was_ where I was headed earlier," the Brit said with a shrug. "Not anymore."

"Colorado?" Arthur asked, too, but with the ghost of a smile. "I seem to recall that you're highly _wanted_ in Colorado. For that Ponzi scheme, if I remember correctly."

And even though they had been just about to rip each other's throats out a second ago, Eames laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in an endearing way that had Ariadne wondering exactly _what_ kind of history these two had.

"Ah, yes. That was singularly successful venture, wasn't it, love?" the conman sighed, smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "You would be wanted there, too, if you hadn't skipped town earlier that morning." His eyes were fond as they settled on Arthur again.

Arthur's eyes had similarly softened, head tilted to one side as he…_relaxed._ His shoulders lost their tension as he chuckled, shaking his head. "I told you to pull out sooner. They nearly caught you, getting onto that train."

"If I'd pulled out sooner, we wouldn't have gotten as much out of it," Eames interjected. "Besides, I _never_ get caught."

"You nearly _did_," Arthur jabbed, tension flowing back into his shoulders as he stood up a little straighter.

"Yes, well, I _didn't_, Arthur. And because of that, we each got over ten million. Or had you _forgotten_ that part?" Eames had narrowed his eyes now, and was regarding Arthur with a silent challenge in the air between them.

"Forgotten? Forgotten seeing you nearly get dragged away to spend twenty years or more in a tiny prison cell with no hope of bail or probation? How the _hell_ could I forget—" Arthur stopped talking and scrubbed a hand across his eyes.

Ariadne watched with a slightly open mouth, blinking rapidly and trying to get off the emotional rollercoaster she seemed to have unwittingly stumbled onto. One minute these two were reminiscing about the 'good old days', and the next they were tearing each other apart!

Looking at them now, Ariadne knew why Arthur had never looked at her twice, even when she'd hoped he would. They must have been seriously in love for the fallout to have been this bad.

"Darling, how long has it been since you slept?" Eames asked suddenly, gently, further surprising Ariadne with the simple depth of the concern in his voice. He crossed over to place an unobtrusive, supporting hand on Arthur's lower back, and the hacker leaned into him instinctively, savoring the warmth.

"Too long," was his only answer. "It's been a hell of a day."

"A hell of a day and three hours," Ariadne corrected, somewhat cheekily, rolling her shoulders in a stretch. She and Eames had taken turns napping earlier, so she sympathized with her obviously over-tired friend. "You know, it might be a bad idea to suggest this, but why don't we all go together? I mean, Colorado and LA are in the same direction. Wouldn't it be safer for all of us to travel in the same car? Watch each other's backs and all that?"

She watched as Eames considered this, his hand rubbing distracted, soothing circles on Arthur's back until the hacker had all but collapsed against him, leaning his head into the junction of Eames's neck and shoulder.

"Well, I suppose you have a point, pet," the conman finally conceded, laying his cheek against the top of Arthur's head for a brief second before straightening a little. "Come on, Arty," he whispered. "You can sleep in the car. Come on."

For a moment, the only noise Arthur made was a grudging one as he shifted a little closer to Eames, who laughed. Then Eames gently shook Arthur's shoulder until the slighter man wearily blinked his eyes open. Ariadne expected—well, to be honest, she expected a dramatic leap away. But instead Arthur just sighed, not even making a move to get Eames's hand off his back.

Together, the two men began loading the guns into a bag, talking quietly with each other as Ariadne finished packing the rest of the food into a box. The way they oriented their bodies towards each other was interesting. Maybe she'd been wrong about their relationship.

Maybe they'd never broken up.

The walk to the car was surprisingly uneventful, with only two or three infected to deal with. Arthur muttered something about greener pastures as he helped load the guns and food into the backseat before Eames all but shoved him into the car.

"Sleep," Eames said, taking off his coat and laying it over Arthur. "I'll drive."

Arthur protested quietly, but subsided quickly enough, absentmindedly tugging the coat closer around his shoulders and shifting into a more comfortable position before suddenly sitting up again.

"Here," he said, pulling a lighter out of his pocket and handing to Eames. "You forgot this, in Prussia. I—I've kept it for you." He settled back into the seat again once the lighter was safely in Eames hand, turning his face away so he wouldn't have to look at Eames and whatever expression he was making.

Eames's eyes were soft again as he gently shut the door, and then turned to Ariadne.

"Coming, then?" he asked, and she nodded. Climbing into the passenger seat, Ariadne glanced at her apartment building in the rearview mirror. Then she buckled her seatbelt and turned to Eames in driver's seat.

"Let's go."

**-ooo-**

When Arthur woke, it was because the car had stopped. He checked to make sure that his gun was still tucked into his holster, and then flicked his gaze to the faintly glowing display of the car's digital clock.

Nine, just about.

So, he'd slept for six hours, give or take. He didn't feel all that rested, but he did feel a little clearer. He jumped a little when there was a tap on the glass. It was Eames, leaning into view with a smile on his face. Past him out the window Arthur could see Ariadne, mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Time to get up."

Arthur could barely hear him through the glass, but he got the general gist of the statement from the smirk on Eames's face. After a second of disgruntled shifting, Arthur got the door open and stepped out into the weak autumn sunlight.

"Why have we stopped?" he asked, shaking off the hand Eames had put on his elbow to steady his half-asleep legs.

"Ariadne has to go to the bathroom. I wasn't going to let her go in alone, and I wasn't just going to leave you sleeping in the car, even If I _did_ crack a window…"

"Yeah, uh, can we go now?" Ariadne asked, shifting her weight from foot to foot irritably. "We can chat later."

"Right," Arthur said, and reached back into the car for his axe. He'd grown rather fond of it, and it _was_ useful. He checked his gun's magazine, put another one in his pocket, and nodded for them to lead the way.

The rest stop was seemingly deserted as they walked the long, bare expanse of the parking lot toward the building. Arthur checked every car, though, just to be safe. They didn't need any nasty surprises, no matter how badly Ariadne had to go to the bathroom.

Luckily for them, it seemed that most of the zombies had moved on, leaving only seven or eight of them behind in the building. The companions managed to sneak past three of them, not wanting to shoot for fear of alerting the rest to their existence.

They were noticed anyway, of course.

Eames ducked around the tackle of a maintenance man who had come at him too quickly for Eames to take aim. There was no time for Eames to even raise his gun before the zombie charged at him again, almost knocking him off-balance.

"Eames!" Arthur shouted from where he was prying his axe out of the juncture of a shopper's neck and shoulder. "Catch!"

Eames looked up just in time to see the crowbar Arthur was throwing come flying at him. Luckily, it missed his own head and hit his attacker in the throat, sending it back the few inches Eames needed to get his footing again.

"Where the hell did _that_ come from?" Eames barked in irritation. "And more importantly, why the _hell_ did you _throw it at my head?"_

"Shut up and use it!"

Eames dipped down to snatch the crowbar from the floor, straightening in time to catch the maintenance man with the backswing. The hook of the bar made a rather unappetizing sound as it dug into the infected's skull, but it had the effect Eames was hoping for.

The zombie dropped and stopped moving.

Eames huffed and looked up from checking to make sure it was _dead_ to see how the other two were faring. Ariadne had finished off one zombie with a few bullets to the brain and was currently beating the head of another against the fake brick wall. Arthur was dissecting his third with rather messy efficiency, eyes narrowed and completely focused on the task at hand.

He was lucky that Eames saw the last two infected come vaulting over the counter of the Auntie Em behind him.

_"Duck!"_ Eames screamed at him, and Arthur didn't even think before he dropped to his knees on the ground to give Eames the space he needed to take out the last two undead, silencing their breathless shrieks forever.

He couldn't help but grin at the face Arthur made when a bit of the resulting gore hit him in the back of the head as the zombies collapsed around him.

"You all right, Ariadne?" Eames asked, lowering his gun and looking over to where she was just letting her last kill fall to the ground.

"Yup," she said. "You?"

"I'd be better if Arthur hadn't tried to _kill_ me," Eames responded, but his voice held nothing but a light tease as he extended his hand to help Arthur up.

"Yeah, you're _welcome,"_ Arthur snorted, accepting the hand and releasing it a second too late. He forced attention away from his slightly colored cheeks by nodding to the crowbar now protruding from a zombie's head. "See if you can get that out. It could be handy."

Eames walked back over to it and pulled, bracing his foot on the infected's temple. After a few tries and once of Arthur's beautifully slim eyebrows raising, he finally got it free with a sick kind of squelch.

"Where did you even _find_ this?" he asked, turning back to Arthur with the crowbar over his shoulder. "I'm one hundred percent positive you didn't have it with you when you came in."

Arthur shrugged. "On the floor. Some poor bastard probably dropped it while he was busy getting his flesh ripped off."

"Well that's a wonderful image, Arthur, thank you," Eames muttered, his mouth twisting.

"You're welcome, Eames. And as for another thing—"

"Okay, this is all great, but I have to _pee_," Ariadne interrupted, suddenly. "So if you two don't mind, I'll meet you back here in a few." With that, she quickly jogged past the sign reading _Women_, leaving Eames and Arthur alone.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Arthur sighed, "Well, we might as well get cleaned up, at least. And _thank you_ for the wonderful addition of zombie blood to my hair. I'm sure it looks _great."_

"You look _fine,_" Eames said, grinning. "Always."

**-o-**

Arthur leaned back against the counter of the McDonald's when he and Eames returned from the men's room, trying in vain to stop the yawn he could feel creeping up on him. When he lost the battle, Eames chuckled and earned himself a glare.

"Oh come off it, darling," the conman sighed. "Just because we don't like each other doesn't mean we have to fight _all_ the time." His eyes bored into Arthur, willing the younger man to respond.

"It's not that I don't like you, _Eames_," Arthur said, sounding a little exasperated. "It's just that we don't get along."

"Well, you could have fooled me, _Arthur_," Eames said irritably. "And what, pray tell, is the difference between those two things? Especially with you?"

"What do you _mean_ 'especially with me?' I'll have you know that there are very distinct differences! I _do_ like you. I'm only arguing with you because you're arguing with _me_." Arthur wasn't leaning against the counter anymore. He was standing firmly, eyes locked on Eames.

"That doesn't make sense!" Eames exploded. "I'm _not_ arguing with you! I don't _want_ to argue with you! In fact, I think I like you better with your mouth _closed. Darling._"

From where she stood about five yards away, partially concealed behind a blood-spattered rack of cheap sunglasses, Ariadne watched and shook her head. The only thing wrong with these two was their lack of communication. She wondered if they'd ever figure it out.

"Oh _do_ you?" Arthur spat. "Well maybe you'd like it if I—oh, Ariadne." Arthur tugged his vest straight again, absently, as if he were trying to smooth out his aggravation with Eames. "All set? Time to go, then."

He turned on his heel and left the building.

**-oooxooo-**

**November 7, 2013: 12:00 pm, 960 miles from destination**

"So, where exactly in Colorado are we going?" Arthur asked, finally breaking the hours-long silence that had settled between him and Eames while Ariadne napped in the back. It wasn't that he particularly _wanted_ to talk to Eames, it was just…he wanted to talk to Eames.

Really _talk_. Not argue.

He hoped that didn't make him as pathetic as he felt.

"A tiny town called Bonanza. It only has a population of 14 people, and one of them is the man I'm looking for." Eames steadily handled the car around another empty van left in the middle of the road, not looking at Arthur.

"And who is that, exactly?" Arthur prodded, sounding a little accusing. He hated not knowing things. "You were less than forthcoming with information earlier."

"I just didn't think you'd want Ariadne here to know about your criminal activities, Arthur," Eames said, rolling his eyes. "She knows _I'm_ one, and I figured that was enough of a shock for her already."

"Yeah, fair enough I guess," Arthur said, shrugging a little. "That still doesn't change the fact that you haven't told me who he _is_."

"His name is Yusuf," Eames said. "He was a chemist who worked with the government before he ruffled a few feathers and nearly got spirited away in the back of a black van."

"I assume _you're_ responsible for that," Arthur said, crooking a half-smile at Eames before catching himself and turning his frown back at the dashboard. "Why are we going to find him?"

"Because he's brilliant. If there's anyone who can make a cure for this…this _thing_, it's Yusuf." Eames slid his gaze over to Arthur, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. "And I'll have you know, the trouble he got into was of his own making, no help from me."

"I see," was all Arthur had to say to that. Silence fell, smothering, until he sighed. "So, Bonanza? That's…nine hundred and sixty miles from here, just about." Arthur kept his eyes fixed out the window, not looking at Eames. He was a little startled by Eames's laugh.

"Only you, darling," the conman chuckled, and just like that, the tension was broken. "Only you would know how many miles from here it is to a Podunk town in Colorado."

"Well, forgive me for wanting to know how many hours I'm going to be stuck in a car with you," Arthur said, but his words held nothing but amusement. "God forbid I have to be here longer than necessary."

"Oh yes, God _forbid_." Eames laughed again, and glanced over at Arthur. He was infinitely pleased to find the hacker's mouth pulled into a smile, and grinned wider when he caught Arthur's eye. "How long has it been since we roadtripped, Arthur?" he asked, levity dancing in his words.

"Do you mean for fun, or for work?"

"It was always fun with you, darling," Eames answered, and they both paused. There had been an uncomfortable amount of truth in that statement, and not just about traveling. So, instead of looking at each other, Eames focused on the road in front of them and Arthur counted the number of zombies he could see shambling along in the line of tress by the edge of the highway.

"I'd place it at about…eleven months ago," Arthur said, finally, and Eames took a minute to wonder if he was just throwing a date out there before Arthur continued. "Beirut. We were stuck in the car together for twelve hours, running from the police. Remember?"

"Of course I do, darling. But wasn't there that time in San Diego only a few months ago?"

"That doesn't count, since we were only driving for half an hour." Arthur argued lightly, more teasing than anything else.

"It does too count!" Eames protested, and then they were off again, both too angry to really be fighting over what did or did not count as a roadtrip, based on driving time and distance covered. 'Do you remember that time we were driving from here to there, and we were so happy?' every barb seemed to say. 'Do you? Why you'd have to go and ruin it? Why did _I?_'

Silence settled thickly over them once the snarking had stopped. It seemed more permanent than the one before, and had the potential to bleed into uncomfortable at any second. But then, after a moment's hesitation, Eames reached over and laced his fingers with Arthur's, keeping the other hand firmly on the wheel and his eyes forward.

After a minute, Arthur curled his fingers around Eames's hand and turned his eyes out the window once more.

* * *

And nothing is resolved. Oh well. I hope you enjoyed! Please review!


	6. For there's only a step to the grave

Hey all! Sorry that there was no update for Quotes this week, but I was really busy. Anyway, not that many zombies in this chapter, but there is some nice roadtripping down memory lane. ;)

**Big thanks to VergOfTowels, my amazing beta, and to everyone who's read or reviewed! :)**

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* * *

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**November 8, 2013: 8:00 am, 760 miles from destination**

"I said _stop_, you two! Honestly, are you or aren't you grown men?" Ariadne practically screamed in frustration, and sighed, and ran a hand through her hair, her other hand on the wheel. "You should be _very_ glad that I'm too busy driving to pound you or _believe you me—"_

"Ariadne, stop," Arthur said.

"—and don't think that I wouldn't do it, because _honest to God—_"

"Ariadne, _stop,_" Arthur insisted.

"—until you're bleeding out of your ears or tearing out your hair, like I am, because I never signed up to be a _baby-sitter_, and—"

"Ariadne, pet, I think Arthur is trying to—" Eames attempted to cut in, eyes closed and fingers rubbing a circle into his temple.

"—sick and tired of you two _fighting_ all the _goddamn_ time—"

_"Ariadne!"_

Finally, the young woman paused in her rant to send Arthur a tired glare in the mirror. Her lips were pressed together angrily, and Arthur took a moment to feel bad about pushing her this far. But he really had no idea what it was about Eames and being stuck in a car that brought out the worst in him. In _both_ of them.

"_What_, Arthur."

"Pull over. There's a man flagging us down a few yards ahead, and he doesn't look infected. The least we can do is talk to him." Arthur leans forward from the back, pointing out the windshield to indicate the disheveled person down the road.

If his shoulder brushed Eames's, no one noticed.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Eames said with a shrug. "We can always shoot him later."

Ariadne nodded and pulled over, and the three of them got out of the car.

The man waited anxiously a few paces away, regarding them with a kind of spasmodic fear, like a startled rabbit waiting for something bad to happen. He had dark, curling hair and a tan face, and eyes that flicked nervously to the right every few seconds.

He was familiar to Arthur.

"Nash," the hacker greeted almost pleasantly. The effect was ruined by the gun in his hand.

"Arthur? Arthur! Oh thank God," Nash whispered. "Thank God. You—you're not infected, right? You're clean?"

"We should be asking _you_," Eames interrupted. "You're the only standing out on the side of the road like a bloody loony."

"I'm not sick. Arthur, tell them I'm not sick!" Nash's eyes jumped from Eames to Arthur and back again, before settling pleadingly on Ariadne. "Please. I just want to get out of this hellhole. Wherever you're going has to be better than this."

The three companions exchanged looks. As much as the man seemed…_unstable_, he actually _was_ healthy. And besides, all three of them were loathe to leave a man stranded in the middle of the freakin' apocalypse.

After a long discussion, and a few minutes of Arthur rummaging around for something—a manila folder?—in the glove compartment that he briefly thumbed through, they decided Nash could come with them.

"Welcome to the Great Trans-American Road Trip, where the fun never stops," Eames said, completely seriously, as they all got back into the car; Eames driving, Arthur shotgun, and Ariadne and Nash in the back.

Ariadne rolled her eyes, and Nash blinked crazily at him, but Eames decided Arthur's small breath of laughter was worth all of the weird looks in the world.

**-ooo-**

**6:00 pm, 550 miles from destination**

"Oh my God, do they ever stop? They've been going on for _hours._"

Ariadne glanced into the rearview mirror at the two men in the back, checking to make sure that the strained silence they'd fallen into wasn't because one of them had killed the other. Satisfied that they were both breathing, she slid her eyes to Nash in the passenger's seat.

"Sometimes," she said, trying to sound comforting. "When one or both of them is asleep."

Nash groaned and slid farther down in his seat, putting his hands over his ears as he caught sight of Eames's arm slipping _fractionally into Arthur's personal space_ and waiting for the inevitable.

"And when does that happen?" he asked Ariadne. "Rough estimate?"

She laughed wryly, shaking her head, and didn't answer.

**-ooo-**

**7:20 pm, 525 miles from destination**

Arthur glanced away from the road when Eames's phone began to ring. "Who has your number?" he asked, trying not to sound too accusing, because really, he had never really wanted Eames's new number in the first place.

"Beats me," Eames said, and pressed 'accept'.

After a few seconds of listening to whoever was on the other end of the line, Eames's eyes gained a hard glint, and Arthur leaned forward to put on a CD, to give him some privacy. He was curious as _hell_, but now was not the time to start eavesdropping on Eames's personal calls; not if he wanted to make it to Bonanza in one piece.

But, of course, he did anyway.

He couldn't make out much, since Eames had lowered his voice when he started speaking. Something about _left_ and _my mother_ and _dead_ and _go to hell._ But it was low and dark and furious, and ended with _never call me again._

And then Eames hung up.

He wasn't forthcoming with information, and Arthur didn't ask. The man never called back.

**-ooo-**

**10:45 pm, 500 miles from destination**

The house they'd chosen to spend the night in was made of brick, strong and sturdy. They blocked the windows after clearing the house, and soon settled down to sleep, with Arthur taking the first watch because he'd squabbled over it with Eames and won.

The night was quiet, and Arthur didn't know whether or not to be pleased by that. For one, it set his mind to rest about there being bands of the undead marauding around outside the house. But it also made every small sound an explosion in the dark.

He _didn't_ flinch a little at the creak of the floor board behind him.

However, he did turn and level his Glock at the offending noise maker, but lowered it immediately when he saw it was Eames.

"You should be sleeping," he said, turning his back on Eames and leaning against the couch cushions again. "It's been a rough day."

The conman sighed and came around to the front of the couch, slightly sleep ruffled, but far too awake for Arthur tastes.

"Can I sit with you?" Eames offered by way of reply.

Arthur moved over a little.

"Darling, we need to talk," the Brit said when he was settled; close enough to Arthur so that their thighs were touching, even though there was enough room for both of them to sit without contact.

"Do we?" Arthur asked, but he was already turning to look at Eames again, expression unreadable.

"You know that we do." Eames chuckled humorlessly and scrubbed a hand across his face. "Arthur, what are we doing?"

"We're driving across the country to get to Colorado, to find colleagues and friends that we're hoping will still be functioning," Arthur answered simply, closing the door on any other answer, fully understanding that that was _not_ what Eames was talking about. "With Ariadne and Nash. Presently, I'm keeping watch, and _you_ should be sleeping."

Eames's shoulders sagged tiredly.

"Can't sleep, Arthur. Haven't been able to for a while." He shook his head. "Not since we…but enough about that. Sorry to bother you."

He stood, stood from the couch like he was wearing the weight of the world instead of the horrible paisley shirt that Arthur was so fond of, and began to walk.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps—

And Arthur told himself that when Eames had gone five steps, he would let him go. Let him walk away from this and never feel anything for him again.

Four steps.

Five steps.

Arthur had always been a liar.

"James," he said softly, but Eames heard it. "James, come sit with me for a while."

It wasn't an apology. He wasn't begging. Eames came to sit with him on the couch, thighs barely brushing, and they didn't talk. They didn't fix anything, didn't right past wrongs or pour their hearts out to each other. They were not that kind of men.

Instead, Eames laid his head against Arthur's shoulder and dropped into sleep, and Arthur placed his free hand on Eames's knee, but didn't lean back against him, didn't press one, soft kiss to the top of his head, didn't breathe three words that he wished he could be brave enough to say to Eames when the conman could hear them.

He told himself that he didn't do _any_ of these things, but he didn't wake Eames, either.

He stayed awake for Eames's shift, instead.

**-oooxooo-**

**November 9, 2013: 6:30 am, 490 miles from destination**

"So, where are we going?" Nash asked, after Eames finished telling him which turn to take. The younger man seemed more relaxed than the day before, but that just may have been the effect of a night of sleep not worrying if something was going to sneak up on him and tear his throat out.

"Colorado," Eames answered shortly, glancing at Arthur in the back. He and Ariadne were dozing, leaning against each other in a way that looked ridiculously uncomfortable, but Eames supposed it was better than bashing your head against the window after every bump in the road.

He sighed.

Arthur had been too tired to talk when they'd woken up, since he had kept watch for both four-hour periods instead of waking Eames to take his. The conman frowned a little to himself, wondering if things would continue to be awkward between him and Arthur, or if they'd actually managed to _fix_ something and things would get better. In all truth, they couldn't get worse, short of homicide.

"What's in Colorado?" Nash prompted, shaking Eames from his thoughts.

Behind them, Ariadne cracked an eye open.

"A friend of mine. He used to work with the government, but he just freelances now," Eames replied, glancing back to the map so he wouldn't be tempted to watch Arthur's mouth curl into a concentrated frown while he slept.

"Oh. I see."

Ariadne bit her lip, trying not to give herself away with all of the questions she was _dying_ to ask. How did Eames know this man? Had Eames worked with the government, too? What kind of criminal _was_ Eames, exactly? Ponzi schemes, a government chemist…the man was a mystery.

But she couldn't say anything. She was supposed to be asleep, and she figured Eames wouldn't take kindly to eavesdropping, even if they _were_ in a car. God, she was frustrated.

She closed her eyes again, just in time for Eames to flick his gaze back to the rearview mirror.

Time went on.

Eames liked Nash, he decided after a while. The man was quiet, and didn't really pry or ask questions that weren't necessary. So what if he looked shifty or seemed a little twitchy? The silence between them was a bit strained, but at least it wasn't oppressive.

It was going to be a long drive.

**-ooo-**

**10:30 am, 410 miles from destination**

Finished stretching her legs, Ariadne grinned cheerfully and replaced Nash in the driver's seat, wondering if she'd ever get her chance to question Eames. "I can't say it enough, Arthur. I _love_ driving your car," she sighed as she slid it into drive.

Arthur just hummed from the back where he had his feet braced against Eames's seat, laptop balanced on his knees. His BlackBerry was in the cup holder, creating his very own wireless hotspot via the Atheros chip he'd carefully fused into the control board, and he was searching for anything related to the vaccine.

Mostly, though, he was looking for news of LA.

"You know," Ariadne said after a few long minutes, when it seemed she wouldn't get the chance to talk to Eames on her own, "this awkward silence thing is really starting to bother me. Arthur, do you have any CDs or anything?"

"Check the glove compartment," the hacker replied distractedly, and Ariadne motioned for Eames to do just that. After a few minutes of digging through the documents and printouts Arthur had left to multiply in the space, he found a few thin plastic CD cases.

Pulling them out, Eames glanced over the selection.

"Bach, Mozart, Chopin, Edith Piaf…darling, none of this is good music to drive to," he said, sounding disappointed, like he'd expected to find something else.

Ariadne flicked her eyes over to the compartment. "What about that one?"

"Which one?" Eames asked, bending forward again to sift through what must have been the remains of a small forest. Hidden under only three or four sheets was a clear plastic case, unmarked, with a white burned CD inside. Eames pulled it out and showed it to Ariadne.

Taking her eyes off the road again, she squinted at it. "What does it say? Arthur, either you labeled this with broken hands, or you did it drunk in the dark. There's no other excuse for that."

_That_ was the chicken-scratch that marred the white of the CD with thick black sharpie lines, spelling _something_ out in a rough approximation of the English language.

Arthur peered up from his screen momentarily to glimpse the disc in Eames's hand before dropping his head further down behind his computer. "I didn't write it," he said, as if that explained everything. And, it did, at least to an extent. "Eyes on the road."

"Well, what does it say?" Ariadne asked again. "If you'd _tell_ me, I wouldn't have to risk all of our lives in a horrendous, bloody, and painful accident."

"Dramatic," Eames chuckled, and turned to study the front of the CD. When he realized what it was, his smile changed from amused to wondering, with a hint of something Ariadne couldn't describe as she watched him in the mirror.

"…Eames?" she prodded after a minute. Arthur still hadn't looked up from his screen. She couldn't see more than the very top of his head behind the sleek black of the computer's finish.

"It's Bon Jovi and Meat Loaf," the conman said. "It's just a mix of some of the better songs. I—I didn't think you'd kept it, Arthur."

The hacker rolled one shoulder in the most uncomfortable shrug Nash had ever seen.

"I like it," was Arthur's only reply. "And, since you were wondering, Ariadne: it _was_ dark, we _were_ drunk, but the only reason it's illegible is because Eames was writing with his right hand."

No one spoke again, and finally Eames opened the case and inserted the CD into the player. For the next hour or so, they listened to the two singers belt out heartfelt lyrics to wild nights and love and loves lost.

The silence was gone, but the tension just grew to fill the space it left behind.

**-ooo-**

**4:00 pm, 300 miles from destination**

Eames laughed at him as he reached into the glove compartment to pull out another handful of papers.

"Would you be quiet?" Arthur gritted out, but Ariadne was glad to hear there wasn't any real anger in it. Now if Eames didn't start anything they would avoid a fight that day.

"Sorry, sorry, Arthur. I'm just surprised you let it get so messy in there. And why the urge to clean it now?" Eames looked over from the driver's seat to briefly study the hacker, who was leaning forward to sort out the papers in his glove compartment.

"I need something to do," Arthur said, paperclipping a stack and setting it aside before moving onto the next one. "I…I don't really like to look in here." He turned his face away and laid the second stack on top of the first, followed by a small library of neatly labeled manila folders.

Eames was about to ask why when Arthur pulled out a pouch made from a napkin, curling letters on the side declaring it to be from _Le Casino de Monte Carlo_ in faded blue ink. If he were to open it, Eames knew he'd find a single red die, loaded to land on a four. Following the pouch, Arthur drew out a spool of lime green thread, a postcard from Greece, and a crumpled pack of cigarettes, and a gun with an engraving on the grip.

The dim light from the window glinted off the words, "Truly great madness cannot be overcome without significant intelligence." Eames had though it fit Arthur quite well—he still did.

"Don't say anything," Arthur warned quietly under his breath, cleaning each item of crumbs and dirt and small grains of sand that had gathered over the years and returning them to the compartment.

And Eames thought of the shirt in his bag with its row of neat, lime green stitches (third date, a knife fight, but he hadn't gotten hurt. Arthur had seen to that), the pen clipped to his wallet from that hotel in Ioannina, and the silver lighter with a green dragon curled around the case that Arthur had so recently returned to him. There was an identical pistol in his own possession—it said, "Fight till the last gasp."

Arthur had engraved _Shakespeare_ on his second anniversary gift.

"Oh, _Arthur_. I would never say anything."

**-ooo-**

**9:00 pm, 220 miles from destination**

Arthur rechecked all of the boards over the windows and all of the locks on the doors for the third time before finally sighing and stepping back. He really wasn't too worried about the fortifications Eames had made to the cottage, but he needed something to do with his hands.

"Arthur, would you _sit down?_" the conman groaned from the couch where he was finishing up cleaning his guns—_again_—before taking his watch. "You're making me doubt myself."

Arthur laughed and finally came away from the locks. "I don't believe there's anything in the world that could make you doubt yourself."

Eames grabbed Arthur's elbow and gently tugged him down onto the couch next to him. The hacker didn't resist, instead leaning against Eames with a contented sigh. It was so easy to forget that things hadn't worked out…

Eames shifted and tucked Arthur's head under his chin.

"Tomorrow…" he began, and then faltered slightly.

Arthur closed his eyes and turned his face slightly into Eames's chest. "Tomorrow," he agreed. He was proud that there wasn't any waver in his voice, nothing to betray how much he wished tomorrow would never come.

"You—you don't have to leave when we get to Colorado, Arthur," Eames said softly. "You could—"

"I can't," Arthur broke in, gently. He wondered if it was possible to want something too much—to finally reach the cliché of dying of heartbreak. If he hadn't been so sad, he might have laughed at how pathetic he was being right then. "James—God, I want to. You know what? I really want to." He felt Eames's arms wrap around his waist. "But I can't. I have to find out if Cobb's okay. If the kids are. I have to know."

"I understand, darling, I do." Eames kissed the top of Arthur's head, before pulling away. "It still will never work between us, will it? No matter how much I want it to."

Arthur stood, smoothing out the creases in his pants. "You've seen how it is with us, James. It's always been like that. We fight too much to ever be together." He tried to keep the regret and the pain out of his voice, but Eames had always been too good at reading him.

"Darling—"

"I'm going to grab some sleep. Wake me for my shift." He couldn't let Eames say anything to change his mind. It wouldn't work—they both knew it. They'd had this conversation in their heads, in their dreams, too many times to count. And Arthur didn't think he could handle breaking up with Eames _again_.

"I will, Arthur. Goodnight."

**-oooxooo-**

**November 10, 2013: 10:00 am, 140 miles from destination**

"So, is today the day we get to Colorado?" Nash asked, not really helping to fix the tension that was doing its best to smother them all.

"Yeah," Arthur said shortly. He seemed reluctant to continue, but did after a moment, turning slightly to look at Nash and Ariadne in the back. "We actually have to talk about that."

Eames studiously kept his eyes on the road.

"When we reach Colorado, I'm not staying there," Arthur said. Nash cocked his head confusedly, but Ariadne just regarded him neutrally.

"What? Where are you going?" Nash demanded. "I thought we were _all_ going to Colorado."

"You are," Arthur replied. "I have to get to LA. It's important."

"LA? Don't waste your time," Nash said. "It's gone. Wiped off the map, on Monday morning."

Eames watched Arthur's hands go white-knuckled on the armrest.

"Is that so?" Arthur asked, quietly. "Then I'm going to the closest refugee camp near the remains of the city."

"It's a lost cause, I'm telling you. They destroyed the entire city, and everyone inside. Anyone you were looking for is dead." Nash flinched away from Ariadne's smack in surprise. "What? I thought he'd want to know."

"No."

"No?" Nash blinked. "Well, sorry, then. Next time I'll just keep it to myself!"

"No." Arthur shook his head. "I don't believe it. Cobb wouldn't die like that. He's too proud to get taken down by anything but a face to face duel." He shook his head again, staring off out the window.

Ariadne met Eames's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Arthur," the conman began softly, but Arthur just shook his head minutely, and to Eames it was a clear sign to back off. So instead of saying anything else, he just reached over and took Arthur's hand.

**-ooo-**

**1:00 pm, 80 miles from destination**

Eames let Arthur drive.

At the rest stop, they parked in the silent lot and let Nash and Ariadne head into the building to get snacks or whatever it was that they wanted. Eames stayed by the car with his ex, silently supporting him in the way only he could.

Arthur would talk when he was ready, and Eames would listen.

Finally the hacker sighed, bracing his hands behind him and hopping up onto the hood of the car. He leaned over and pulled the gun out of Eames's waistband, straightening up and lazily shooting the zombie across the lot in the head before it could notice them.

"Nice shot," the conman whistled, shading his eyes from the weak autumn sunlight with his hand as he watched the zombie stagger and fall.

"He's not dead," Arthur said as he handed the gun back to Eames. He relaxed, as much as he ever did, and laid against the windshield, tipping his face to stare up at the clouds that were starting to roll in.

"How do you know?"

Arthur lifted a shoulder in an unconcerned shrug, closing his eyes. It hit Eames then how much Arthur trusted him. To be this relaxed when a man-eating monster could appear out of nowhere…but at least Eames believed the trust to be well deserved.

He would never let anything happen to Arthur.

"Instinct," Arthur replied, shifting a little before letting the warmth of the metal sink into his stiff muscles.

"You know, the first time I met you I never would have pegged you for one who ran on instinct." Eames tipped his head to favor Arthur with a teasing smile, only to find it lost on his companion's still-closed eyes. Nevertheless, Arthur's lips responded to the tone, curling up a little at the corners.

"But darling, I don't want you to get your hopes up simply over instinct," Eames continued. "It's possible that Cobb never—"

"Of course it's possible. Hell, it's even likely. He hasn't called, I haven't found anything online, Nash says the city's gone…In all likelihood, Cobb is dust. Mal and the kids and Miles and Marie, too. But I can hope, right? I know that they're okay. Because they have to be. Because if they're gone, what have I got left? My family's across the ocean, and it's unlikely that I'll get to see them again until I learn to fly a plane. I'm leaving Ariadne in Colorado with you—"

"What? First of all, Arthur, this doesn't sound anything like you. Where has your famous drive gone? Your backbone? Really now—"

Arthur laughed, right then. He threw his head back and laughed, long and loud, dimples flashing in the sunlight.

"I'm sorry, James. I'm sorry." He breathed deeply to calm himself, angling his head towards Eames with a small regretful smile. "It's been crazy. The world's overrun with zombies, my best friend and his family—not to mention the entire population of Los Angeles and probably several cities like it—are dead, and I've done nothing but _fight_ with you since I found out you were _okay_."

"You can hardly be blamed for your reactions, Arthur. It's been a stressful time for you." Eames decided to risk it and laid his hand on Arthur's arm. "Had you ever killed anyone?"

"Before all this?" Arthur sighed and shook his head. "No, I'd never killed anyone before that. I'd only ever shot people in the shoulder, or the leg. Or the chest, that one time in Rio."

"I remember," Eames said. "You nearly died yourself, while we were there. You should have let me look at that graze sooner, before it got infected."

Arthur shrugged and slid off the car as he caught sight of Ariadne and Nash returning from their 'shopping' trip. Ariadne had made Nash carry the bags.

"Hey guys! …How are you feeling, Arthur?" Ariadne pulled the car door open and Nash shoved the bags into the seat.

"I'm fine, Ariadne." Under her skeptical look, Arthur only thinned his mouth. "Really. I'll be all right. It's nothing to worry about."

"So, will you be staying in Colorado with us?" Nash piped up from where he was standing on the other side of the car. "There's nothing left for you to look for."

"_Thank_ you for that lovely reminder," Eames hissed at him, casting a worried look at Arthur, but the hacker seemed not to be listening.

"I might. I'm not sure what I'm doing anymore." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the car keys, tossing them to Eames. "You drive. We have four hours left to go before we hit Bonanza."

* * *

And so Cobb's a crispy critter and Nash is an insensitive asshole. The course, she has par. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the update! See you next week!


	7. Your life at the longest is only a span

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(Sorry this is in italics, but the editor is being screwy and is making my whole story italicized if I try to change this...) So, halfway done! This is a really long chapter, so I hop eyou're all up for the haul. ;) I know it's up a bit early in the day, but I'm going to be busy tonight and I didn't want to leave you guys hanging.

A HUGE THANKS to VergOfTowels for continually saving my literary bacon.

So, without further ado, Chapter 7!

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**November 10, 2013: 3:00 pm, 40 miles from destination**

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Ring, ring, ring…

_Ring, ring, ring…_

"Should we wake him?" Ariadne leaned forward to shake Arthur's shoulder.

"Don't. I'll get it," Eames said automatically. "Arthur hasn't been sleeping well lately." He sighed, a little sadly. Arthur had always been a little bit of an insomniac, but it used to be you put him in a car and turn on the heat, and pretty soon he'd be dead to the world. Eames supposed that it was understandable that he was a little slower to sleep, now. The conman reached over and tugged Arthur's cell out of his pocket, trying not to jostle him. Arthur only shifted a little before settling his head back against the corner of the seat.

"'Ello?"

For a long minute, the only answer was static.

_"—llo? Arthur?"_

"Cobb? Jesus Christ, Cobb. Are you all right?" Eames nodded for Ariadne to shake Arthur, and not five seconds later the hacker was grabbing the phone out of Eames's hand.

"Dom? Fuck _you_, Dominic Cobb." Arthur laughed, a startling sound in the quiet of the car. "Is everyone out? Please tell me everyone's okay." Arthur ran a hand through his hair as static cut out part of Cobb's reply, but he caught the confirmation the second time around.

Everyone was alive.

_"We even got Mal out. She's tied up, but she's quiet. She isn't in range of anyone, before you ask, Arthur."_

"Where are you?" Arthur had slumped back in the seat, hand clenched in the bottom of his jacket so Eames wouldn't see it shaking.

_"Somewhere near the eastern border of Nevada."_

Arthur could hear Cobb shifting the phone as, in the background, the children's voices floated out of the meaningless din.

_"If it's all right with you, I'm putting you on speaker because the kids want to talk to you."_

"Yeah, yeah, put them on." Arthur pulled the phone away from his ear to enable his own speaker option, knowing that Eames was also quite fond of the Cobb children.

_"Uncle Arthur? Uncle Arthur is that you?" _Phillipa's tinny voice streamed out of the speaker, loud and metallic but very, very much alive. Arthur had to fight to keep his eyes from tearing up as James's voice joined hers.

_"Uncle Arthur? Are you okay?"_

"Yeah. I'm all right, kids. How are you? Everything fine?" He scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, not even caring about the wetness that greeted the skin.

Eames pulled his hand off the wheel and pried Arthur's hand of the bottom of his suit jacket, squeezing it gently.

_"Maman is still…creepy, but that doesn't matter."_ Phillipa's voice shook a little, but Arthur could tell she was trying to be brave. _"Dad says she'll be good as long as we don't go too close."_ Suddenly, her voice lowered, as if she was worried her family might overhear. _"Don't—don't tell him I'm afraid of her, please, Uncle Arthur. He says I have to be a big girl and watch out for James, but I'm scared."_

"It's okay to be scared, Phil," Arthur comforted. "But don't worry. Things will get better soon, I promise."

_"You promise?"_

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Phillipa raised her voice back to its normal level, seeming consoled by Arthur's assurances. _"Grandma and Grandpa are good, too," _she said, and Arthur could hear her small smile. "They still argue a lot, but they're still normal."/i

"That's good to hear, pet," Eames said. "That's great."

_"Is that Mr. Eames? Are you there, Mr. Eames?"_

"Yes, I'm here, James. Are you and Phillipa getting along? Not causing trouble for your dad, I hope."

_"Phillipa's kind of annoying, but she's okay, I guess."_

_"Hey! You're whiny, James! You're bothering Uncle Arthur and Mr. Eames!"_

"Look what you've started," Arthur chuckled, and it warmed Ariadne's heart to see him that happy. "World War Three. I feel bad for Cobb."

"Oh, come now, Arthur. It's not going to be all _that_ bad. You'll be good for your dad, won't you, kids?"

_"Yeah, okay,_" the kids chorused, sounding reluctant but assenting. _"We'll be good._" And Arthur knew they would. Anything else would be too dangerous.

_"Oh, Dad wants to talk to you. Bye, Uncle Arthur! Bye Mr. Eames!"_

"Goodbye, guys," Arthur said, and Eames echoed it, both still smiling.

_"Sorry about that,"_ Cobb laughed. _"They mean well. So, you two are traveling together? I'm not sure whether to be surprised or bragging that I knew it would happen. You're pretty impossible to predict, Arthur, and at the same time I always seem to know what you're going to do before you do."_

"Yeah, yeah. I'm taking you off speaker." Arthur did so, shooting a playfully warning look at Eames, who was wiggling his eyebrows. Ariadne was cracking up in the back, and Nash was shaking his head with a smile.

_"So, who was that I heard laughing in the background?"_ Cobb asked. _"Not Eames, surely? A bit too high pitched for him, unless there's something I don't know about."_

"No, that's my friend Ariadne. She's with us, along with Nash Archer. You remember Nash, right?"

_"Reputation only. Sounds like an odd crew, to be honest. Hey, listen, where are you?"_

"We're about two hours outside of Bonanza, Colorado. I can be in Nevada in—"

_"No. You get to Bonanza with Eames and your team. We'll meet you there in two days, maybe longer depending on whether or not we stop to gather news in some of the refugee camps along the way."_

"All right. I'll wait for you in Colorado. Call me later, okay? You're going to check in with me periodically, whether you like it or not, Cobb."

Cobb chuckled. _"Yeah, okay, Arthur. I'll talk to you soon. Bye."_

"Bye." Arthur hung up, but stared at the phone for a long minute afterward. Finally he sighed and put it back in his pocket.

"So, that's fantastic. That's fantastic, Arthur!" Ariadne leaned forward in her seat, mouth stretched wide in a grin. "I'm so happy for you. He's alive. That's great."

"Yeah, it's..." Arthur sighed again, happily, too relieved for words. One hundred miles ago, Cobb had been a dead man, he and his family only ashes under the remains of a once-great city. Now they were alive, safely at the border of Nevada.

"That means you're coming to Colorado with us, right?" Nash asked, fidgeting a little in his seat. "I mean, it's not that I don't trust these guys, but—"

"Yes, Nash, I'm coming to Colorado. I—" he shot a glance over to Eames, and chased it with the shadow of a smile. "I may stay a while."

**-ooo-**

**4:30 pm, 10 miles from destination**

"Okay, if no one else is going to ask, I'm going to," Ariadne finally declared, fed up. "Who the _hell_ are we going to see?"

"We'll be at my contact's house in about six minutes," Eames announced. "His name is Yusuf. He was a chemist for the government's medical research department, but he left during the middle of the vaccine's test trials. He wouldn't tell me why."

"We'll get him to talk," Nash said confidently. His hand strayed to the gun tucked into his waistband, but Arthur was already shaking his head.

"No. Threatening him will do no good. People faced with the threat of violence or death can never be trusted to say anything reliable." Arthur drummed his fingers on the dashboard. "We'll need to try something else."

"What about blackmail?" Nash suggested instead.

"With what?" Eames snorted. "What use is a reputation in the apocalypse? You actually _worked_ with this guy, Arthur? Must not have been for his intellect. No, what we need to do is—"

"Why not just try _talking_ to him?" Ariadne said suddenly. "He's your _friend_, isn't he?"

"More of an estranged acquaintance to tell the truth. If he knew we were coming and had any particular fondness for guns, he'd have one drawn on me before I even finished climbing his porch steps." Eames shook his head. "We didn't part on the best of terms."

"What on Earth could be so bad that you'd _torture_ him? Honest to God."

"He sold me out for a double share. It put me in a…_bad spot_, shall we say, that even _I_ had trouble getting out of. The way I see it, he owes me."

"I would have thought you'd choose your teammates more carefully, after Bahrain," Arthur muttered, scolding. "Wasn't nearly getting shot by Wilkinson enough for you?"

"That's not really the point, darling. Yusuf is the best at what he does and I needed that. Betrayal or not."

Ariadne sighed. "Okay, so he betrayed you. But that's in the past, isn't it? We're all fighting to survive _now._ Let's leave the past out of it. Besides, Rob always says the way into someone's confidence is through force of personality and a nice smile. If we want this 'Yusuf' to help us, you should try that, first."

"Rob?" Eames asked, glancing at Arthur out the corner of his eye. He was surprised by the chagrined expression on his ex's face. "Who is Rob, Arthur?"

"Robert Fischer, rising star in the energy business. He's her boyfriend." The hacker rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I'm sorry I never asked, Ariadne. How is Fischer? Still…?"

"Alive? Thankfully, yeah. He and his dad were hiding out at Saito's compound in New York last time we talked. Turns out that even big businessmen have hearts, for which I am eternally grateful. I think if I ever meet Mr. Saito, I'll have to kiss him. I'm just glad that Rob had his childhood baseball bat on hand, otherwise—but anyway, we were talking about your contact. I still say the best way is conversation."

"You know, darling, I think she's probably right."

For a second, Ariadne could have sworn Eames looked a little uncomfortable. That sounded awfully like trying to end the discussion, but she really couldn't fathom why he wanted it over with, all of a sudden.

Then Eames turned to Arthur and grinned, and the moment passed. "Can we keep her? Having her around keeps us human, have you noticed? Talking. That's a novel idea. We never would have thought of that."

"The sad thing is, we never would have," Arthur agreed. "How about it, Ariadne? Want to stick with us for a little while longer? When we get done _talking_ to Mr. Yusuf, I'll lend you my phone to call your boyfriend. Who knows, maybe New York will be our next stop."

"Really, Arthur? That'd be great! Thanks!" Her smile could have powered a small country. Arthur took a moment to let it sink in, to feel bad for everything she'd never have, everything she'd gone through. She was only seven years younger than him, but Arthur had lived a lot in seven years.

He'd made good friends, met a man and fallen in love, bought the biggest mistake of his life in several payments of humiliation and regret over a series of too many months…but he had learned a lot. He prayed that she would get to do that; to make friends and mistakes and live her life outside of the constant threat of mutilation.

One day.

He shook his head and checked his Glock's magazine as Eames pulled into the driveway of a surprisingly unassuming house.

"We're here," Eames announced, and cut the engine.

**-ooo-**

**5:00 pm – Bonanza, Colorado**

"I have to say, I wasn't expecting visitors. Especially not you, Eames. Honestly, I was hoping I'd never see you again," Yusuf said, handing the bottle of beer over to the Brit with a dry smile and a nervous shift of his weight.

"Well, the world works—"

"If you say 'in mysterious ways', God help me, I will shoot you myself," Arthur warned, drawing a real smile from Yusuf. "I'm sorry about barging in like this, but we have a few questions about the vaccine."

"Ah yes. I figured that's why you're here," the chemist said with a small sigh. "But honestly, I'm afraid I don't think I'll be of much help. They kicked me off the project once I started speaking out about some of the adverse side effects that were emerging in the test cases."

"What kind of side effects?" Nash asked, leaning forward from where he sat on the couch. "You mean that things like this were happening even in the _study?_"

"Well," Yusuf hesitated, but Ariadne cut him off, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"That's awful! Why didn't anyone _do_ anything?"

"I _did_," Yusuf sighed. "They removed me from the project and threatened to hurt my family if I said anything."

"But—but how could something like that actually _happen?_" There was a kind of shocked depression in her voice, her shoulders tense and her eyes horrified.

"In all likelihood, Global MedCare paid off my department to give their vaccine the green light. They were competing with Angelic Med for the honor of releasing first, and I guess they won." Yusuf shook his head sadly, but turned a tired smile on Arthur. "Where'd you pick her up? Her naivety is endearing."

"She gives me hope that there're actually normal people in the world," Arthur said. "But I'm afraid we really must get to business. From Eames's reports, we've come to the conclusion that you may be able to synthesize a cure for the vaccine, a way to reverse the effects. Do you think it's possible?"

"Well, in theory anything's possible. I would need the exact formula for the vaccine, but I probably have all the chemicals I need downstairs…"

"The formula will be no problem. Give Arthur a computer and two hours' time— _maximum_—and you'll have it," Eames said, shooting the hacker a wink that was answered with a small, fond smile.

Yusuf's eyebrows went up. "You must really have a high opinion of him. The last time we worked together you kept making our tech run and rerun _everything_."

"Well, Arthur is the best," was all Eames had to say. Yusuf nodded, accepting Eames's evaluation, and asked Arthur whether he would prefer to use the home computer or his own laptop.

"Both," the hacker answered, rising to grab his computer case from the couch next to Nash. "Lead the way."

As she watched Yusuf get Arthur situated, Ariadne finally voiced the question that had been bothering her. "Eames, you said you've worked with Yusuf before. What exactly _were_ you two doing?"

"Oh, you know, illegal things," the conman hedged, shooting Yusuf an unreadable glance as the chemist opened his mouth.

"Yeah, I kinda _figured_ that. But come on, you can tell me. What am I going to do? Arrest you?"

"No, but you may get mad at me," Eames admitted, shooting Arthur a nasty glance when the hacker snorted. "And _that_ is not something I look forward to, especially if we're going to be traveling to New York together in a _car_ in the near future."

"Are you seriously going to make me beg? The suspense is killing me! Just tell me already!" Ariadne's puppy-dog eyes were as irresistible as Phillipa's, and Eames found himself succumbing to their charm in much the same manner.

"Fine. It was corporate espionage. Are you happy?"

Ariadne tilted her head to the side confusedly. "Is that all? Why on Earth would I be mad about that? I don't really care about some big company…wait. Who were you working for?" She studied his face.

This was the same look Eames had had, back in the car.

Eames thinned his mouth, but then shrugged. It was the most uncomfortable Arthur had ever seen him, when he took a minute to glance over at the two of them. "We were hired by a man named Saito. He wanted intel on his rival's business, so he could exceed, and possibly ruin, his competition."

"Oh." It was small puff of air expelled in surprise. "Freakin' small world, huh? What are the odds?" She shook her head wonderingly. "So, that big scandal, that was you? Rob was swamped with calls and meetings for weeks."

"Yes, pet, that was us. Yusuf helped with the technical jargon I spewed to encourage the takeover of the fake medical business, and also the fake trial products. I really hope this doesn't damage relations."

For a long minute, all Ariadne did was stare at him. Then, she smacked him hard in the shoulder. "There, now we're all squared away for, you know, you saving my life and all that."

"Deal," Eames said, and though his demeanor never changed, Arthur could tell he was relieved.

He turned back to the computer and focused on saving the world.

**-ooo-**

**7:10 pm – Bonanza, Colorado**

"Eames, for the last time, would you stop hovering behind me? It's distracting!" Arthur snapped, not even looking up from the screen, fingers dancing furiously over the keyboard.

"Sorry, sorry," the conman soothed, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace that was lost on Arthur's back. "What's wrong?"

"I keep running into opposition, and I can't—I can't—_dammit_!" He slammed his hands down on the desk and spun the swivel chair around, launching up from it when his back was to the screens. He paced frustratedly around for a few minutes while Eames leaned in to look at the computers. They were covered in lines of numbers and letters that didn't mean anything to him so he turned his attention back to Arthur.

"What is it? What's going on?" Yusuf asked, jogging up from the basement, followed by Nash and Ariadne. "Problem?"

"Insurmountable firewall," the hacker hissed. "It's a kind of content-filter proxy that I've never seen before." He ran an angry hand through his hair, tugging at in irritation. "I've tried everything I can think of, but short of hacking it directly from the source—"

He paused, and then spun on his heel to face Yusuf.

"Where were you working out of? A military base? Or were you working at Global MedCare?"

"Global," Yusuf answered, "on a government funded project."

"In the US?"

"Yeah. The headquarters is only about three hours from here." Yusuf watched, bemused, as Arthur started to pace again.

"Okay," Arthur said suddenly, halting. "If we could get in there—get into the computer room, I could directly enter the system with no problems. But I can't access the files we need from here."

"You need an in, darling?" Eames asked with a devious smile. "Give me your picture, a computer, a printer, and half an hour, and you'll be all set to get in to wherever you want to."

Arthur grinned, frustration melting away. "I knew there was a reason I loved you."

Luckily, the rest of the team was too busy with their own lives to notice the way Eames stiffened in surprise, or the way Arthur's face flamed as he turned away to grab a drink from the kitchen.

When he returned, he cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.

"So it's settled, then. Tomorrow we impersonate members of Global MedCare. Yusuf, I need you to stay here and go through your chemicals. See if there's anything else you think you'll need, and call us if you find something we can pick up for you. Nash, you'll be accompanying me and Eames to the compound. At present, we'll start going over the finer points of acting important while Eames makes our IDs. Any questions?"

"Yeah, I have one. Why the hell are you leaving me behind?" Ariadne's glare could have set a lesser man scurrying to do her bidding, but Arthur stood his ground.

"Because this is a criminal operation, Ariadne, and I won't have you becoming—"

"Becoming _what,_ Arthur? I've come this far with you, holding my own, to be treated like a child _now?_ I think I can handle a little breaking and entering! I think I can _handle_ a bunch of _normal people_ after _beating in my neighbors' heads!"_

"That's just it, Ari. These are normal people we may have to kill. Rational human beings. Can you do that? Do you think you could?"

Ariadne hesitated. "I—I could. If I had to, I mean." Then, with more conviction, "If I had to."

Arthur looked at her, calculating. He didn't want to bring her. He'd much rather she stayed here, safe, with Yusuf. But Ariadne had already proved she wouldn't stand for that, and Arthur decided it was better to have her along with them rather than risk her coming out after them, alone.

"Fine."

She smiled, relieved. "Thanks, Arthur. Really."

"Okay, any more questions?"

He sighed, wondering if maybe the end was closer than they'd thought. It'd been only eleven days since the vaccine had finished its work. _Eleven days_ and most of the world was quarantined or infected or lying in a pool of their own blood, heads blown away.

Oh, the wonders of modern science.

He surveyed his team for any raised hands or confused looks, and then knocked back the shot of the whiskey Yusuf had so kindly provided.

"No? All right then, to work."

**-oooxooo-**

**November 11, 2013: 9:25 am – Global MedCare headquarters, Pueblo, Colorado**

"Everyone ready?" Arthur asked, adjusting his tie. They had left Yusuf at six that morning, and along the way to the headquarters they had stopped by a clothing store to pick up some professional, non blood-splattered clothing.

They now stood staring up at the slate-gray building, fighting the anxiety they all felt creeping over them. The sky was overcast, threatening rain as they shifted anxiously and examined the parking lot across the way for any lurking dangers. The fact that there didn't seem to be any reflected in the metallic coating of the cars was not even remotely comforting.

"I don't like this," Arthur said quietly to Eames as the conman handed him his ID badge. "This is a big town, but there are _no_ zombies. And yet, there are still guards at the door? Where _is_ everyone?"

"I know. It's very odd. But we need to get into the building, don't we? I'll take any blessing we can get, and having zombie-free streets seems like a pretty big one."

"You're right," Arthur sighed. "Okay, let's go," he said, raising his voice to include Ariadne and Nash in the conversation. "Let's get this over with."

Together, the four of them approached the guard, each of them taking out their Eames-provided IDs to show to him. He smiled at them and waved them through the doors, not even bothering to check their papers.

"Have a pleasant day," he said to them, eyes slightly unfocused. Perturbed, the four infiltrators entered the building. Arthur rounded the strangely empty check-in desk and pulled up a map, locating the computer labs in the basement.

"Okay, the safest and most direct way down to the basement is the service staircase; fourth door on the left," he said, nodding toward the corridor on their right. "I don't want to risk an elevator, even if this building seems to be okay. Shall we?"

They jogged to the door. It was a dark affair, black and heavy and lacking any kind of window. Nash pressed his ear to it. "I don't hear anything moving on the other side," he said, and they pulled it open.

The stairs were clear, and they each breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"All right," Arthur said softly, just in case there were any people around on the other landings. "Lab's in the basement. Let's go." He nodded to Eames and moved forward to take point. Ariadne followed him, then Nash, and Eames brought up the back. They made it down two flights before Arthur froze and held up his hand for the others to do the same.

Arthur's free hand dropped to his Glock, and he thanked whatever God there was that he had brought six extra cartridges.

The stairs before them we covered, completely _packed_ with zombies. But all of them were immobile, simply staring off into space, almost like they had been drugged. They hadn't even looked over at the footsteps or the motion of the approaching intruders.

Arthur motioned for them to turn around, to go back up the stairs, and Eames drew his gun and silently lead the way. When they had reached their original point of entry, Nash grabbed the handle and pulled the door open.

Cold, dead eyes stared back at him.

Nash let go of the handle and stumbled back away from the silent crowd that had gathered outside the door. There were at least thirty of them—in lab coats, security uniforms, civilian clothes…all just _standing_ there. For a long second, everyone held their breath and waited for the attack.

It never came.

_Go up_, Arthur mouthed finally, gesturing to the ascending stairs. _We'll try another floor._

Eames shook his head grimly. _We're boxed in._ He pointed to the next landing, and while they couldn't see much, they could see at least twelve pairs of feet waiting there.

Arthur's head spun. What the _hell_ were they going to do now? There were zombies on every side, no way out. He didn't want to risk firing any shots at any one group in case the other infected became aware of their presence. They didn't really have a lot of options, though.

_What now?_ Ariadne mouthed, eyes wide and frightened. She was staring at the zombies on the upper floor. They seemed to be moving closer.

_We go down. We're trapped anyway. Might as well try._ Arthur knew it was a bad choice either way. What else could they do?

They were half way across the landing when the door finally snicked shut on its pressure hinge, and the sound reverberated softly around the stairwell.

All of the zombies looked up.

"Oh, _shit_," Nash breathed, and then they attacked.

_"Move!_" Arthur screamed, shoving all of them forward, towards the descending stairs. "Go, go, go!" He spun on his heel, firing rapidly to cover their escape. He tried to ignore the rapport of Eames fire behind him, tried to tell himself that they would all get out of this alive.

There was nowhere else for them to go.

Arthur stumbled over one of the fallen bodies and almost lost his balance as he followed Ariadne down the stairs backward, into the chaos of writhing bodies and snapping teeth.. He didn't know where Nash was. He _couldn't see Eames_. He flinched and half-turned at Ariadne's gasp of pain, shoving her suddenly out of the way so the zombie that had been coming at her tackled him, instead.

One set of stairs away from his destination, Arthur got the breath knocked out of him as an infected man in a guard's uniform pinned him to the wall, railing digging painfully into his back. Arthur's elbow between them was enough to keep the zombie's snapping jaws away from his neck, but he could feel himself slipping as another assailant—this one a woman in a gray pantsuit—took hold of his other arm and yanked with the still surprising strength of the infected. There was a sharp pain that told him the bones in his wrist hadn't liked the tug-of-war.

And then the guard's head exploded.

A second later, the woman's followed suit. Arthur whipped around to see Eames at the bottom of the stairs, gun still raised.

"Well, don't just _stand_ there, Arthur," he snapped. "Get down here!" Arthur did.

A few minutes later, they were all gathered in the dark of the computer room. The familiar hum of the machines soothed Arthur's nerves, and he loosened his tie to ease his breathing.

"Is everyone all right?" Eames asked, and one by one they all nodded. "What the _hell_ was _that_?"

"I'd say that it was probably the last thing any of the scientists of Global Med did," Arthur said, quickly activating all of the computers, his fingers flying over the keys so fast they were almost a blur. "They probably hit them with a high-dose sedative or something, to cover their escape. It probably wore off by the time we got back up to the landing. This launch code time stamp—" he gestured to the screen that flashed _**EMERGENCY PROTOCOL**_, "—indicates that they left about fifteen minutes ago."

"But we didn't see anyone out there," Ariadne whispered.

Arthur sighed. "I know." He shook his head sadly, then ran a critical eye over the computers in front of him.

"Nash? You know how to get past a basic security firewall, right?" he asked, and beckoned the man over when the confirmation was given. "Good. I need you to hack this one while I get started on the inner security on this computer."

Arthur crossed the room to another bank of computers, inserting his flash drive to upload the helpful virus he had created to aid him in situations like this. He worked with it easily, calm though his hands were shaking.

One minute, basic firewalls down. Five minutes, encryption code bypassed. Eight minutes, password found and entered…He lifted a hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead, cursing the sudden headache that had developed behind his eyes.

"Got it!" Arthur declared triumphantly after about ten minutes, startling Ariadne where she tensely waited by the door, watching the hallway.

Eames grinned. "I think that's a record, even for you, Arthur."

The hacker chuckled. "No. I took down a system faster than this the last time we were in Somalia, remember? Now all I need to do is set it to transfer—"

Suddenly, every speaker in the lower floor of the compound came alive.

_"Non, rien de rien. Non, je ne regrette rien…"_

"What the hell is that?" Arthur demanded angrily. "Nash, _what the hell did you do?"_

"I—I didn't do anything!" the other man protested. "I didn't!"

_"Ni le bien qu'on ma fait, ni le mal, tout ça m'est bien égal!"_

Eames swore and went over to Nash's console, roughly pushing him aside. He read over the appearing lines of text.

_'Shift change initiated…Please have a nice day. Shift change initiated…Please have a nice…'_

"Shit," he spat, "he activated the damn shift-change music. Now every zombie in this entire place is going to gather _right here._"

"Then we need to leave," Ariadne said. "Right now. Otherwise we'll never get out."

_"Non, rien de rien. Non! Je ne regrette rien…"_

"James, catch."

Eames looked up in time to grab the object Arthur had tossed to him. Closer inspection revealed it to be the hacker's BlackBerry. Eames glanced at Arthur in confusion.

"Darling, what do you want me to do with this?"

"I've programmed the computer to email the files to my phone. Everything Yusuf needs should be in the folder."

_"C'est payé, balayé, oublié…Je me fous de passé!"_

"Ariadne, come here and look at this blueprint. I need you to memorize the way out of here. When I tell you to, I want you to take Eames and Nash out through there, that side door. It leads to the lab's emergency evacuation tunnel, the one that can only be opened from inside. There shouldn't be too many infected lingering inside it."

"Wait, Eames and Nash?" the girl questioned. "What about—oh, God, Arthur. You're bleeding."

_"Avec mes souvenirs, j'ai allumé le feu. Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs, je n'ai plus besoin d'eux…"_

_"What?"_ Eames snapped, almost dropping the phone in his haste to get to Arthur. "Darling, show me."

"We don't have time for this," Arthur warned as there came a loud bang from behind them. "That door won't hold very long. However, the emergency evacuation route is fitted with computer controlled, air-tight steel doors that I can close behind you from here."

"Except that you're not staying here," Eames interjected. "Now show me. _Where are you bleeding?"_

_"Balayées les amours, avec leurs tremolos. Balayées pour toujours, je repar à zero…"_

Arthur gritted his teeth against the throb from his head and the stab of pain from his wrist as he lifted it to show Eames the bite.

"Holy shit," Nash swore, and leveled his gun at Arthur's head.

"If you shoot him, I will tear you apart with my bare hands," Eames promised, glaring at Nash over his shoulder. Turning back to Arthur, he silently begged the younger man not to do this, not to stay behind.

Arthur glanced back at the computer screen.

"The transfer's fifty percent complete. It's time for you to go." He pulled his arm away from Eames gently, pressing it slightly to his chest in a protective manner.

"No. Arthur, I am _not_ leaving you here," the conman protested, placing his hand on Arthur's cheek. "I'm never leaving you again."

"As sweet as that is, James, I'm afraid I insist," Arthur said, heart breaking, trying not to back down and let Eames endanger them all by taking him with them. "I wager I have about five minutes left, maybe less. You need to get out of here before I stop caring enough to help you."

_"Non, rien de rien. Non, je ne regrette rien…"_

"Come on!" Nash said from the tunnel's doorway. "He's already gone. We need to go!"

"No! Darling, Arthur, look at me. I'm not leaving you. If you're staying, then so am I." Eames pulled Arthur closer to rest his forehead on Arthur's feverish one. Like Ariadne had predicted those _(eternities)_ days ago, Arthur was turning quickly, too quickly…

"For God's sake, James," Arthur whispered. "Can we not fight, just this once? Go with Ariadne and Nash. There's nothing more you can do for me, short of shooting me. When you get out of here, call Cobb and tell him what happened, so he knows not to make any plans to meet with me in case I get a hold of a phone somewhere."

_"Ni le bien qu'on ma fait, ni le mal, tout ça m'est bien égal!"_

Eames's slid his hand down to rest on Arthur's neck, feeling the too-fast beat of the hacker's pulse race under his palm as he rubbed Arthur's jaw with his thumb. Arthur raised his uninjured hand and placed it over Eames's, before gently but firmly pulling it down.

"Go, James. Go bring Yusuf his data. If he makes a cure, come find me, yeah?" Arthur leaned forward and kissed Eames, once. It was short, but full of everything they had ever been to each other—full of peaceful dinners and dangerous gunfights, crime and visits to the theatre…Full of dark nights in a nameless hotel and clasped hands and just holding each other.

Full of the words they said that they never meant, and the words they meant that they never said.

_"Non, rien de rien. Non, je ne regrette rien…"_

"There's something I should have told you a thousand times over, Arthur," Eames whispered. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Arthur said back, pressing his lips once more to Eames's. "Now go. _Go_. Ariadne, get him out of here."

_"Car me vie, car me joies. Aujourd'hui…"_

Ariadne pulled Eames toward the door, and after the first few steps the conman stopped resisting.

"He'll make a cure, Arthur. We'll see each other again! I promise!" When he reached the doorway, he paused and looked over his shoulder once more, and then tossed something back at Arthur. "And then I'll marry you."

And Arthur laughed, fevered eyes turning slightly glassy and skin paling under the harsh electric lighting on the room. He leaned back against the computer table and watched Eames take the last step into the escape corridor, his hand warming the metal of the object Eames had given him before he slipped it into his jacket pocket.

"Goodbye, James."

_"Ça commence avec toi!"_

Valiantly, Arthur held his tears at bay as he closed the door behind them. And then…

Then he felt nothing at all.

* * *

...Okay, so on a scale of 1 to 10, how badly do you want to kill me? I'm really sorry for leaving it there, but it's a good, dramatic place to stop, and I love cliff-hangers. Sorry! :)

Anyway, a huge thanks to my reviewers! Please review some more! ;)


	8. And you've only one step to the grave

Okay! So, sorry about the last chapter. Nothing really get resolved in this one, but you do find out a lot. Hope you enjoy!

Thanks to all my reviewers so far, and welcome to any new readers!

I seriously can't thank VergOfTowels enough. A wonderful and amazing author for this fandom herself, she has proved to be am AMAZING help to me and an invaluable source of inspiration and support. All of her stuff is wonderful, so go read them when you're done here!

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* * *

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**November 11, 2013: 11:20 am, three miles outside Parkdale, Colorado**

No one spoke.

Ariadne kept her hand over her mouth and her eyes averted out the window, trying to keep her sobs as quiet as she could, because every time one slipped out, she saw Eames's shoulders tense a little more in the rearview mirror.

Nash was driving, because he was the least emotional. Ariadne was worried, because Eames hadn't even protested when the other man had crossed to the driver's side. He'd just silently gotten into the back seat and kept his head down ever since.

Just to have _something_ to do to keep her from going mad with grief, Ariadne shifted and popped open the glove compartment, its small click the only sound that had been heard for close to an hour now. She reached in, lifting out the stacks of papers in folders, neatly paperclipped and labeled with violently green sticky notes that, belatedly, she realized were in the shape of an E.

Browsing through them, from _Danielson, Frances April—Oregon_ to _Rafiq, Amil Hajra—Morocco_, she found something that surprised—and concerned—her.

_Spellman, Ariadne Marie—Pennsylvania._

"He was keeping tabs on me?" she muttered quietly, incredulous. She flipped through the papers, shocked breathless by the simple _amount_ of information that was listed. Her home address, her work place, her school, her family and her _boyfriend…_

"Eames, why was Arthur researching me? This is a serious and creepy invasion of my privacy…" Her eyes bored into him from the mirror, but Eames never answered, never even looked up. Finally, Nash glanced over at her, eyes soft and sympathetic with the knowledge that she was just trying to find a distraction from everything that had happened.

"Arthur's a point man, that's why. He wasn't doing it to be invasive."

"A…point man? Like in the military? But I don't understand. What would being the first into a situation have to do with all of _this?_" Ariadne was confused and still a little out of her depth. It was still hard for her to wrap her head around the fact that Arthur—Arthur, all smiles, in his slacks and school uniform vest, playing in the sandbox with her, tugging on her pigtails and smearing wet sand onto her nose—had turned out to be a criminal. And a world-class one at that.

"Yeah, kind of like that, I guess. It was Arthur's job to go over all the plans before we used them, to check them for flaws. And sometimes, depending on how hands-on the job was, Arthur would always be the first into the situation, to test the waters. Aside from handling computers, Arthur was in charge of researching not only the people or businesses we were going to hit, but the team members as well. For safety and security for him and his close associates, mostly."

Nash smiled, a little sadly.

"The man lived and breathed information. And after everything, when the job was over, he was also in charge of getting us all out alive. If any cover ups had to be done, Arthur was your man. You make a mistake, get lost? Arthur can help you, so long as he trusts you. I only worked with him as a peripheral on one or two jobs, but I bet he has a file on me stashed away somewhere." He tried to grin at Ariadne, but it came off as more of a nervous grimace as he craned his neck to look into the glove compartment.

"That still doesn't really explain why he was checking into my—oh, God. That's my social security number. And that's my credit card number, and my…okay, I'm burning these. It's in my best interest."

Nash laughed, but it sounded a little forced. "I'm one hundred percent sure that Arthur has a neat little file on everyone he knows. It's a guarantee of protection. If you know everything about everyone, he told me once, then you have no fear of surprises." He twitched again, almost like the very thought of the folder of his secrets was stabbing him with a needle. "You know, could you check if it's in there? I mean, he's not going to need it anymore, right?"

Ariadne narrowed her eyes at him. "That's not true. He's coming back, Nash. He _is_. But…" she hesitated for a moment, torn, before resolutely closing the file. "I still think it's unnecessary. Arthur and I've known each other since we were kids. There's no reason for him to be running background checks on me—"

"My younger brother turned me in to the police," Nash said.

"What? Why? That's horrible!"

"It's the business," Nash sighed grimly. "Be wary of anyone and everyone, because _everyone is looking for something to own you with_, be it your name, your family—hell, you can't even trust _them_. Arthur, that son-of-a—" he glanced back at Eames quickly in the rearview mirror and swallowed when he saw the man's fists clenching. "Arthur knew that, so he found out everything he could about everyone he knew. He was the best at digging out things I tried to keep—" This time, he shot a look at Ariadne and wet his lips nervously. "Things _people_ tried to keep hidden. And he used it as blackmail, to get what he wanted. He used it to keep people in line."

Ariadne looked at Nash's hands, white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and then back at Eames, who sat staring blankly out the window. His shoulders stiffened every time he caught sight of an infected, his teeth clenching until Ariadne could see a muscle jumping in his jaw.

Finally, she sighed, sadly. "I wonder what would make him choose this life." She reached in and pulled out another handful of files, leafing through them until she found the one labeled _Archer, Nash Robinson—California_.

"Ah, here it—"

Suddenly, Nash flung himself to the side as best as he could, grabbing wildly for the folder. With only one hand on the wheel controlling it, the car began to swerve dizzyingly back and forth down the road, narrowly missing colliding with an SUV.

"Nash! Fuck, Nash, hands on the wheel!" Ariadne screamed, but the man paid her no attention, feverishly straining to _finally get his hands on_—

The car fish-tailed, sending most of the contents of the glove compartment spilling to the floor, then ran off the road and into a ditch, where it stopped, shooting all of them forward against their seatbelts.

Nash, now trying to pull the file out of Ariadne's terror-tight grip, was unprepared for when Eames launched himself forward and tore the papers away from both of them, dropping the folder onto the seat next to him.

"Nash, if you ever pull something like that again, I'm going to break both of your legs, dump you by the side of the road, and drive away." Eames's voice was low and dangerous, and Nash stopped trying to get to the file, eyes going wide with fear. "Ariadne? You're going to put whatever it is that you took out of there _back_ and leave it _the fuck alone._ Arthur just finished organizing everything, and you've gone and cocked it all up again. _Put it back._"

Ariadne just stared at him a moment, muddled brain frantically trying to process what was going on. Her chest ached from the whiplash and her body was still stiff with shock from the crazy ride.

There was a moment of silence before Eames barked, "Now!" and Ariadne immediately scrambled to get her seatbelt off so she could reach down and pick up the scattered files as Nash started the car.

Eames turned to look back out the window.

-o-

It took half an hour for Ariadne to get all of the papers back into the correct folders (or as correct as she _thought_ them to be) and reverse alphabetize them, like they had been. She glanced down to make sure she hadn't missed any, when a small, paper pouch caught her eye from where it sat innocently on the floor by the center console.

"What's this?" she muttered to herself, leaning to pick it up. Upon closer inspection, it proved to be a small, red die in a napkin from a casino in Monte Carlo. She started to tip the die out onto her palm.

_"Don't."_

It was the first thing Eames had said since the file incident. Immediately, Ariadne stopped what she was doing and turned her eyes to Eames, confused.

"Huh?"

"I said _don't do that._ Just put it back in the glove compartment." His eyes were cold and hard when they met hers in the mirror. _"Now,_ Ariadne."

"O-okay." Still a bit frightened of him, she did as she was told, reluctantly putting it away. "What's so special about it, anyway? It just looked like an ordinary die to me…"

"Don't touch it. No one but Arthur is allowed to touch it." Eames had directed his gaze back out the window, but not before Ariadne had seen the pain flash in his eyes.

"Eames, do you…do you want to talk? We can talk about Arthur, if you want. Sometimes that helps."

"It won't, Ariadne, because talking about the fond memories you have with a person is something you do when they're dead. Arthur is not dead."

Nash scoffed, quietly, before he found himself pinned to the dashboard by Eames's glare. He fell silent, paling, as Eames looked over at Ariadne. "He's isn't dead, Ari. Therefore, it isn't necessary."

Ariadne sighed, but there was a note of steel in Eames's voice that told her not to push it. However, her curiosity was only held at bay for as long as Eames was looking at her. As soon as he turned back to the scenery, she found her hand wandering back into the glove compartment and to the small paper-cloth pouch.

She took it out again and examined it more closely. She wanted to know what about this die was so special. She wanted to know anything she could about Arthur, about the parts of his life that he'd hidden away so carefully and meticulously. She wanted to know how Nash had met Arthur, where and when and why. She wanted to know when Eames had first known he'd fallen for Arthur, and what about him he liked the best.

She and Arthur had been very close. They'd been the kind of friends that could tell each other anything, or so she'd thought. Arthur wasn't around to hide things anymore, but he wasn't around to give her any answers, either.

"Ariadne, I _said_ put that _back._"

The biting tone shocked her, and once again she found herself staring into the reflection of Eames's angry eyes. His mouth was set in a hard slash, unforgiving.

"What's so special about it?" she asked again. "Come on, Eames, please. Just tell me. I never knew anything about this part of Arthur. _Nothing_, do you understand? When he showed up covered in blood and knew _you_, the criminal who saved my life, it was like meeting a completely different person."

She cut herself off, blinking back the new tears that had risen in to fill the space left by the ones she'd only just gotten over.

"Has that ever happened to you? Have you ever thought you knew someone only to have the rug pulled out from underneath you at the worst possible moment? I never got a chance to ask him about any of this. About his family, and whether they were okay or not. Hell, I don't even know who _Cobb_ is, and yet Arthur was willing to drive all the way across the fucking _country_ into a _war zone_ to find him? I used to think he told me everything. But hell, I never knew about _you_ either."

"There was never anything for him to tell, about me," Eames said, so softly that it was almost lost in the hum of the car's tires over the highway. "Things didn't work out, not even that messily, just sort of a mutual, sudden break of contact. No screaming, no fighting—not really. Just that once. We didn't even break up face to face. It was in a letter."

He sighed. "Are you happy now?"

"No," Ariadne said, "I'm sorry." She didn't continue for a long minute, choosing her next words carefully. "Will you tell me about him? Please?"

Eames didn't say anything, and when she looked in the mirror, he was staring out the window again.

Sighing and admitting defeat, Ariadne put the die back once more and leaned into the warmth of her seat, flipping through the papers again and trying to reconcile the man they whispered of with the man she knew as Nash drove silently beside her.

"It's lucky."

She stilled and looked up again. "What?"

"The die. It's lucky." Eames was barely speaking louder than a murmur, and she strained to hear the words that followed. "He got it in Monte Carlo. We were there, two or so years back."

"Lucky?" Ariadne wondered, thoughts slipping to the dimpled red surfaces, the distinctive feel of a weighted side even through the napkin. "Because it's loaded?"

"No. It's saved his life a few times. But he won't let anyone else touch it, because Mal—" For a second, he stopped, mouth pressing into a thin, pained line. Then he shook his head and sighed. "Because Mal said that that would rub the magic away."

"I never figured Arthur for one who would believe in luck or magic," Ariadne thought aloud softly. "What do you mean, 'it's saved his life'?"

"Once, he avoided being shot in the chest because he dropped it and bent down to pick it up. Another time, he was delayed from going into a booby-trapped room because he'd forgotten it on the table. Just little things like that, but you learn to take blessings in this kind of life. Everyone needs a little luck now and then."

Ariadne stayed quiet for a long time, thinking about that.

Finally, she asked, "And do you have a piece of luck, Eames?"

"I do," he answered, eyes fixed on the ever-shifting landscape passing the car, thoughts turned inward, fixed on a silver lighter. He held it in his mind's eye, gaze roving over all the small nicks and indents; every imperfection that made it what is was. "I'm always losing it. I'll leave it in a hotel room in Tibet, and the next thing I know, I'm looking at it in the stall of a merchant in Morocco. Or in the hand of a man from Long Island, or a woman from Jamaica. It always finds its way back to me, bringing tales I've never heard and people I may never have gotten to talk to otherwise."

"And that's lucky?" the girl asked, feeling like she was on the edge of something important.

"No. That was never what was lucky about it. It could tell me all the stories in the world and keep the company of as many strangers as it pleased and that would never make it lucky," Eames answered, sounding far away, as if he were still back in all those back-alley bars, those marketplaces and high-end restaurants.

He pictured it, the flash of silver disappearing into Arthur's hand back in that room, imagined Arthur's slim fingers running over the green dragon, the indents and scratches, the inscription on the inside of the lid before dropping it into a pocket, somewhere. "But the last time I lost it, in Prussia, it—"

For a long minute, he didn't—couldn't?—go on.

"The last time I lost it, it brought Arthur back with it. If that isn't magic, I don't know what is."

**-ooo-**

**1:00 pm, Villa Grove, Colorado**

_Ring, ring, ring…_

"Whose phone is that?" Ariadne asked in the shards of the silence that were left after the shrill electric ring tone. "Nash?

"Not mine," the man replied. "No one on my contacts list is set to standard ring. Eames?"

_Ring, ring…_

"It's Arthur's," the conman replied, pulling it out of his pocket. The screen read _Yusuf,_ and Eames pressed the confirm call button, raising it to his ear. "'Ello?"

_"Eames? Why the hell do you have Arthur's phone? Have you guys split up? For God's sake, are you all all right?"_ Yusuf sounded worried and confused, and Eames spent a minute trying to calm him down to get the straight story out of him.

"What's happened, Yusuf? Are _you_ all right?"

_"Yeah, yeah, I'm all right. A man and his family showed up, and I'm guessing they're the Cobbs, right? They have an_ infected woman _with them, Eames. You didn't tell me_ that."

"It wasn't important. Just—just put her in a bedroom and lock the door or something," Eames said, sounding pained. "What else has happened? Talk to me, Yusuf."

_"We—we got a call from Arthur."_

Eames almost dropped the phone. He must have made some kind of noise, because suddenly Ariadne was turned around in her seat, watching him intently, mouthing, "What is it?"

_"I need to talk to Ariadne, or Nash, or_ someone else, _Eames. The infected don't really travel in groups, and I need to make sure you guys haven't been..."_

Wordlessly, Eames handed the phone to Ariadne, who talked for a few minutes and then passed the phone to Nash.

When Nash gave it back to Eames, the conman demanded, "When Arthur called you, what did he say?" He ignored Ariadne's eyes going wide and Nash's accidental swerve, focusing instead on Yusuf's rather unsteady voice on the other end of the line.

_"He said you had gotten infected and attacked him, but he'd gotten away unharmed. He said you took his phone, though."_ Yusuf sighed heavily. _"Goddammit, does that mean that he's been—"_

"Yes," Eames answered shortly. "Let me talk to Cobb, would you? He and I have some things to talk about, I guess."

_"Y-yeah. Damn. But wait, did you get the formula?"_

"Yes, we did. Arthur made sure that we did. Is there anything you're running low on in your lab? When you see the formula, we'll pick you up anything you need, but, for now?"

_"Hydrogen peroxide. Lots of it. It should be available at the nearest drugstore."_

"Nash," Eames said, pulling the phone away from his ear a little. "We need to stop at the drugstore and clean out their supplies of hydrogen peroxide."

Nash nodded, switching lanes to take the turn that would lead them to Villa Grove's pharmacy.

_"But I think that's about it. Here's Cobb."_

Eames waited until the bursts of static from Yusuf's phone switching hands had abated to take a breath and speak.

"Cobb? It's Eames. I—I'm sorry." He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the fact that Ariadne and Nash had started talking quietly so they could pretend they didn't hear his voice break. "I lost him."

An eternity passed in silence.

Finally, _"Eames, tell me one thing. Just one thing."_

"Anything," the conman replied without hesitation. He would tell Cobb anything the man wanted to know, and honestly. He remembered, all those millions of years ago, when Cobb had confronted him at the breakfast table after a job and made him swear that he would never let anything happen to Arthur.

And meaning every word, Eames had.

_"You know it's not your fault, right?"_

"What?" Eames asked, momentarily stunned. "Cobb—"

_"No, Eames. Tell me you know that. I've spent that last hour talking to Yusuf, and he told me that Arthur was the one who decided to go to the headquarters. And when the zombies showed up, did he try to go back?"_

"No," Eames said, brow wrinkling slightly as he listened to the thief, "but _Cobb_—"

_"And did you push him into the zombie that bit him? Did you leave him to get eaten?"_

"You listen to _me,_ you bloody _bastard_," Eames growled. "I know you never fucking _liked_ me, but for you to suggest that I would _ever_ do something like that to Arthur—"

_"Then how on Earth could it possibly be your fault?"_

Eames paused. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, Cobb. I promised that I would look after him, never let anything bad happen to him. I promised you, but more importantly, I promised _myself_. There is nothing you can say."

_"I know you and I have never really been the closest of friends, Eames, but do me one favor, okay?"_ Cobb waited for Eames to agree, and finally the conman did. _"I need you to stop beating yourself up over this. There was nothing you could have done. The only one responsible for Arthur's life is_ Arthur,_ and I need to you try to remember that."_

Eames sighed and leaned back in his seat and felt the closest he'd ever been to crying since that time Arthur had nearly died in Bangladesh. His throat was tight, and for some reason he was finding it difficult to breathe.

_"I know it's hard. God, I know it's hard. But you can't change it. We need to focus on getting a cure made and then finding Arthur."_

"I'll try to keep that in mind, thank you, Cobb," Eames said, trying to sound like he always did: mocking, like he wasn't taking the world at all seriously. He wasn't sure if he succeeded. "But we don't have to worry about finding Arthur. He'll come to us."

_"Oh? And why is that?"_ the thief asked, joining Eames's attempt to pretend the world was normal, if just for a moment.

"Luck."

**-ooo-**

**2:00 pm, Bonanza, Colorado**

Nash got out of the driver's seat and tossed the keys to Ariadne. Eames followed them to the door of the house, sparing a look at the silver van parked a little ways in front of theirs and trying not to wonder about the dents in it that he was sure hadn't been there the last time he'd seen Cobb.

The kids tackled him the minute he stepped inside.

"Mr. Eames! Mr. Eames! You're all right! _See_, James? I told you there was nothing in the world that could get Mr. Eames!"

"Nuh-_uh_¬, Phillipa! I told _you!_ Dad, tell her that _I_ told _her!_"

"Kids—" Cobb began helplessly, but Eames cut him off by picking both of them up and swinging them around. Their fight was ended in peals of happy laughter that continued for a few beautiful seconds after Eames put them down.

"Well, aren't you two a sight for sore eyes? Just look at you! You're hair's really pretty, Phillipa. And is it just me or have you grown taller, James?"

The children beamed at him, proud in the way only young children can be. Still smiling, they returned to their grandmother's side at her beckon to give Eames and Cobb some space.

For a moment, they just looked at each other.

Then, Cobb stepped forward and they embraced; arms warm around each other under the weight of their sorrow. After a moment, Eames retreated a few steps and ran a critical eye over Cobb. He looked awful, quite frankly, but Eames supposed that that wasn't any surprise. He'd lost his wife and his closest friend to this hell.

"Um, sorry to interrupt, but are you Cobb?"

Ariadne inched a few paces forward, looking uncertain. Nervously, she swept her hair behind her ear before clasping her hands behind her back. Cobb turned to look at her, his eyes questioning.

"Yes, I am. Who are you?"

"I'm Ariadne Spellman. Arthur's friend." She watched Cobb's face pinch momentarily in pain before he smiled at her and extended his hand.

"Dominic Cobb. Nice to meet you."

She shook it firmly, a small smile finding its way onto her face as well. "Yeah, you too. I just wish it had been under better circumstances."

Cobb nodded, letting go of her hand as Eames shifted his weight impatiently. "Yusuf's downstairs, and Mal…she's at the end of the hallway, if you want to see her."

"Thanks," Eames said, and disappeared down the hall.

"Mal?" Ariadne asked after a few minutes of silence. The question snapped Cobb out of his reverie and brought his attention back to the situation at hand.

"My wife. She…got the vaccine." He didn't look at her. Didn't want to see the pity.

"I'm sorry," she said, honestly. "I really am. But she'll be all right. Yusuf will make the cure, and everything will go back to normal." Her smile was small but bright, and Cobb found himself shaking his head and smiling back.

"Where did Arthur pick _you_ up? You're way too optimistic to be in our line of work."

"I'm not. I'm just a college girl from Philly." She reached over and grabbed Arthur's cell from off the counter where Eames had put it. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to call my boyfriend."

Leaving Cobb with a nod, she stepped into another room and shakily dialed the number she knew so well.

_Ring, ring, ring…_

Ring, ring—

"Moshi moshi?"

"Uh—huh?" Ariadne stuttered out intelligently. "Mr…_Saito?_ Um, can I talk to Rob, please?"

_"Oh! You must be Miss Ariadne. Please wait one moment; I will get Robert for you."_

"Yeah, thanks," she murmured, still kind of reeling with confusion. Why was Saito answering her boyfriend's phone? Had something happened?

…And first names?

_"Ari? Is that you?"_ Robert Fischer's concerned voice was no less soothing from 2000 miles away than it was in person, and she found herself desperately wishing he were there with her.

"Hey, Rob. How are you? Everything okay?" The relief in her voice was almost tangible. "Why was Saito answering your phone?"

_"I was busy, so Takumi said he'd grab it._" Fischer shifted the phone to his other ear, and Ariadne could hear the sound of a gun's slide slipping back into place. _"It's…my father didn't make it."_

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry, Rob," she gasped, horrified. "How are you holding up? You didn't have to—"

_"No, thankfully. He got attacked, and he…died before the virus could take hold. Since then, Takumi and I have been holding our own here in New York. The city's quarantined, but there really isn't anyone left to enforce it. There used to be tanks at the edges of the city, and a fence, but the guards are gone. So far, though, no one's been brave enough to try it."_

"Well, don't you and Saito be the first," Ariadne commanded. "I'm serious. I don't want you two to be shot by tanks after getting this far."

_"Don't worry Ari, we'll be careful. Where are you?"_

"Colorado. I came here with Arthur—you remember Arthur, right? The one who runs the weapons shop?—his ex, and an acquaintance of theirs we picked up at the side of the road. We met up with a scientist named Yusuf, and another family who Arthur's friends with. It's a really small town, so we're pretty safe." She tried but couldn't hold back her grin. "We're going to make a cure, Rob. An honest-to-_motherfucking-God_ cure. Can you _believe_ it?"

_"That's amazing, Ari. That's _wonderful."

She could hear the smile in his voice.

_"You have no idea how relieved I am to know that you're safe."_ He paused, and Ariadne could see the incoming _but._ from a mile away. _"But Ariadne, you shouldn't have to deal with this on your own. I'm going to find some way to come out and get you, all right? Even if I have to drive there, I'll come find you."_

Ariadne sighed. "Rob, I can handle myself. I've made it this far, haven't I? I'm still alive! I'm still healthy! I don't need you to rush out here and protect me. I'll be _fine._"

_"No, Ari, this is important. I'm not just going to leave you there with men I don't know. __You're _not safe_, no matter how much you think you are. You're amazing, Ariadne, but you're just a college kid."_

"Don't you dare try to pull that chauvinistic crap with me, Fischer. You have _no_ idea what I'm capable of! I broke into a government office! I—" she broke off, her throat closing up for a second. "Do you have any idea how many people I've _killed?_"

Fischer was about to say something back, but he was interrupted by a quiet voice in the background. Ariadne could hear him press the phone to his shoulder, barely making out the sharp bite of his voice past the muffling of the fabric. Eventually he seemed like he was calming down. When he spoke again, he sounded a little surprised.

_"Listen, Takumi says his pilot is still alive, and if you wanted, we could come and get you from Colorado. You_ and _your friends, and anyone else who's there. I know you can look after yourself, Ari. I just—I want to help. I_ should _help."_ Fischer sighed. _"I don't know if anywhere's safe, but I've heard that it's not as bad in Europe."_

And Ariadne smiled for him, for the attempt he was making even though he couldn't see it.

"I can't Rob," she said gently, patiently. "That sounds _great_, but I can't. I have to stay here until the cure's finished. Arthur—" For a second, her words caught in her throat. "Arthur got infected. We had to leave him behind. But I know Eames won't leave without him, and neither will Cobb."

_"And if I know you, you aren't leaving either. Ari, Arthur owned a _weapons shop _for Christ's sake, and he still got infected. I really think you should come to new York."_

"Rob, are you really trying to tell me that there aren't more zombies in New York than there are in a fourteen-person populated town? Seriously?"

Fischer sighed, sounding impatient but fond. _"Point. So I can't change your mind?"_ Her silence was really all the answer he needed. Reluctantly, he finally bent in the face of her resolve. _"Fine. When you're ready, we'll come get you."_ He stopped again, and Ariadne could hear a muffled voice in the background. When he came back, she could close her eyes and _see_ his grin.

_"Takumi says that his company's lab facilities are open for your friend who's working on the cure."_

Her own smile widened. "Really? Oh my God! That's—that's _fantastic!_ Thanks so much, Rob. And tell, um…Mr. Saito that we're so grateful. I'll tell him, and I'll call back if he decides to take you up on it."

_"Great. I think he should, Ari. The technology will be undoubtedly better at Takumi's labs. The cure could be that much closer. And besides, then I could keep my eye on—"_

"Rob, if you say 'keep an eye on you,' I swear I will go to New York just to _punch_ you. Honest to God, I can keep an eye on _myself!_" Irritated, she paused to take a breath and ran a hand through her hair. "But—" she shot a look over her shoulder to see if anyone was listening, but no one was. "If you _do_ end up coming out here to get us, be careful. Cobb's wife is infected, and he _brought her with him._ She's tied up in one of the bedrooms."

Fischer was silent for a minute, thinking. Finally, _"I can't blame the guy. If you were infected, I would never leave you."_

"Oh, Rob" Ariadne pressed a hand to her eyes to stop the tears she could feel prickling at the back of her eyes. "You know I love you, right? And I miss you?"

_"And I love you, Ari. I'm sorry about Arthur. Call me back whenever, and I promise I will answer. Always. Stay safe, Ariadne."_

"You, too, Rob. And tell Saito I say thanks again, for everything."

And after another three or four goodbyes, she hung up and let the phone fall to her side.

**-ooo-**

"Mal?"

The room was still as he pushed the door open. The lights were off, but the meager light from the sunset was streaming in through the windows, catching on the dust in the air and giving everything a kind of ethereal glow.

Mal was sitting in a chair by the window. Her head snapped up when his eyes landed on her.

"Eames," she acknowledged, eyes flicking back to the window as if disinterested in him. "How nice of you to visit me in my captivity."

"Mal," Eames began, but found he couldn't continue. She looked…healthy. There was no gray tinge to her skin, no fevered glaze to her eyes… She looked normal.

"How are my children? Dom won't let me see them." She trailed off, low and sad, and Eames found himself wanting to go to her, to comfort her. He steeled himself from those emotions, though. If Cobb said she was infected…

She caught the look in his eye and dropped all pretenses, tipping her head back to gaze at him coldly.

"_Cher_," she cooed, grin laced with malice, "Eames, _cher,_ you look so sad. What's the matter? Certainly a little _sickness_ isn't enough to get you down?"

"Mal," he said again, more firmly this time. "Stop. Please."

"Or what, you'll shoot me? Dom may be useless, but even he won't allow that. He won't let you stop feeding me, either. _Il n'y a rien_ you can do to threaten me, _mon cher. Rien._ I am alone, and I will do as I please." She laughed, then, her head thrown back and eyes shining.

Suddenly, she stopped, just staring at him from the chair with the blank look of the zombies on the stairwell.

And that's when he knew; that thing on the chair before him was not Mal. Had been, once—and maybe would be again—but no longer. Not now. Fighting the urge to vomit, he began to edge toward the door, reluctant to even show her his back.

Just as he reached the doorway, her gaze snapped up to him again, and she smiled. There was nothing pleasant about it; it was more a baring of her teeth than anything else. Her eyes, dancing with amusement, glinted wickedly in the room's half light. Like she _knew._

She opened her mouth.

"Oh, and how is _cher_ Arthur?"

He slammed the door behind him.

* * *

So, do we like Mal? How's her first appearance? I hope this chapter was enjoyable, and I'll see you next week!


	9. Backslider in darkness, sorrow and sin

Goodly amounts of Fischer in this chapter. Hope that makes you all happy. :) Thank you, VergOfTowels, for making me add scenery to my world. :)

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* * *

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**November 12, 2013: 1:13 am, Bonanza, Colorado**

__

"Those will kill you." Slim fingers snatch the cigarette out of his own and bring it up to pale lips drawn into a smile. Inhale, slow exhale, and a muted laugh that is swallowed up by the rumpled and skewed blankets all around them.

_"Hypocrite," he chuckles, waving the smoke away before taking the cigarette back. "You're just as bad as I am."_

_Warm brown eyes meet his and steal his breath away, much as the sneaking fingers again nip his cigarette away, tail-end of the filter slipping out of sight behind moist lips and a flash of teeth._

_"I am not. I don't smoke." And, to prove it, his lover flicks the ash into the tray and snubs out the embers against the glass, dropping them into the gloom of the dark room. "See? Now come here."_

_Lips meet softly, a brief press that conveys so much that they never said, so much that they might never say. Things are not always this good, he knows, but for now it is enough that they are together._

_"Darling," he says after they have settled together, back to chest, his arm wrapped securely around his lover's thin waist, "will you be here when I wake up?"_

_"No."_

_And he sighs and traces his hand down the length of the pale arm before him, shoulder to wrist, until soft, dry skin ends in unnatural warmth, slick against the pads of fingers. Shocked, he brings his hand up to inspect the new sensation, the beads of liquid running down his skin and dripping onto the sheets._

_Even in the dim light, he can tell that it is blood._

_His lover is standing now, pulling on his crumpled white shirt, all but the top two buttons done up. The left sleeve sticks to his wrist, dark red staining the white fabric irreversibly. The pants follow, tugged on efficiently. He tucks in his shirt, picks up his tie from the floor._

_From the bed, he watches._

_"Darling, darling," he says, moving to stand but in his heart knowing that his lover is already at the door._

_"Stay here. Don't come after me."_

_And he reaches for the dripping wrist to look for what he already knows is there, but it is snatched away before his fingers can brush the graying skin._

_One hand on the doorknob, Arthur turns. He smiles, a quick and violent flash of white teeth that reflect the strains of the city light shining though the gaps in the hotel's heavy curtains. His feverish eyes glint with malevolence, with a cold calculation that had never been there before. Blood slips silently down from the corners of his mouth, falling onto his exposed throat and the once-starched collar of his shirt._

_And he laughs, he laughs._

_Then, with a gunshot, he is gone; like a wisp of smoke dissipating in the air, he vanishes, leaving Eames holding the gun._

**-o-**

Eames woke.

Carefully, he leaned over and turned on the light, trying to ignore the shaking of his hands. He scrubbed a hand over his face, attempting to force the remnants of the dream away. His breath stopped when he felt the blood on his hand.

A closer inspection revealed his injury to be self-inflicted: he had clenched his fists so hard while he slept that his fingernails had bitten through the skin of his palm. He waited for his breathing to even out, for his pulse to slow. Then he stood, unable to look at blood on white sheets any longer.

He went downstairs and sat alone in the kitchen until dawn broke.

**-ooo-**

**7:10 am, Bonanza, Colorado**

"Good morning, Mr. Eames," Phillipa greeted, as she skipped down the hallway and into the kitchen. Her blonde hair was pulled up in swinging pigtails, and Eames smiled to see them. She looked happy, and that was what Eames needed right then.

"Good morning, pet," Eames replied. "Did you sleep well?"

"Uh-huh," the eight-year-old nodded. "James didn't though. He had a nightmare." She reached over and stole a piece of Eames's toast.

"Oh? That's too bad."

_(One hand on the doorknob, Arthur turns.)_

Eames shook his head and handed her a napkin to wipe jam off her face.

"Yeah, but I'm a good big sister, so I stayed up with him until he went back to sleep."

"You _are_ a good big sister," Eames said proudly. "I'm sure James appreciated it very much."

She shifted in her seat a little, face tingeing pink. "I don't like it when he's sad. But don't tell him!" Her eyes were wide and pleading. "If you tell him, I'll be ruined forever."

Eames nodded solemnly. "Your secret is safe with me."

She grinned at him and bounced out of her chair to give him a hug before stealing another piece of his toast. "Thanks, Uncle Eames."

He paused, coffee cup halfway to his mouth. As he watched her disappear down the hallway again, no doubt to wake her father, his coffee tasted a little bit sweeter.

**-oooxooo-**

**November 24, 2013: 10:00 am, New York, New York**

Another flash of lightening split the dark sky, followed by a roll of thunder that shook the whole city. Rain streamed down in angry torrents, as if God were trying to drown the world for a second time and start over. The last of the recent fires spluttered and died under the onslaught, throwing whole sections of the empty city back into darkness.

Now and again, a neon light flickered briefly, echoing the spectacle that tore across the heavens and casting weak patches of light out onto the deserted streets. Rivers poured down the sidewalks, flowing around dams of abandoned bags and bicycles and the motionless dead.

Sometimes it seemed as if he and Saito were the only two people left alive in the whole world.

Fischer sighed and pulled away from the window he'd been peering out of, turning instead to look around the office he and Saito had taken over as their headquarters. Everything was locked and secure, but Fischer still felt exposed. He fought the temptation to turn off the one low light that illuminated the cream walls, to hide himself from the undead eyes of the city in the comfort of the dark.

He closed the blinds.

Taking a seat at what had probably been the boardroom table, Fischer deposited his gun on the polished surface, intending to clean it. He looked up when Saito came in and inclined his head in greeting. The older man nodded back and joined him, pulling out a chair on the other side of the table.

"This is quite a storm," he commented, and Fischer agreed, looking away from his gun to glance back at the covered windows.

"Yeah, it's crazy. Do you think it will let up anytime soon? I don't really like it when visibility is this bad."

Saito pursed his lips in thought. "I would guess it will continue for an hour or so, more or less. But there are times when the weather can be very unpredictable." He sent Fischer a reassuring smile. "I would not worry. I am sure that all of the infected have mostly taken cover. We will not be bothered."

"That's not really what I'm worried about," Fischer said, a little to himself. He shrugged and smiled back at Saito, trying to put his fears behind him. "Never mind. Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough," Saito answered. "I must admit, it is much easier to sleep with the knowledge that there are others around."

"I know how you feel," Fischer said. "Is Mark still asleep?" he inquired of the pilot, and Saito nodded.

"I thought it best not to wake him. He has been troubled, as of late. I believe he is worried for his family."

"Where do they live?"

"The world is a small place. Currently, they live in Colorado."

Fischer thinned his lips and looked back at the window, as if he could see all the way to Yusuf's house in Bonanza. "Just another reason why we should have left."

"He has assured me that they are safe. We will get them, and Miss Ariadne, as soon as they are ready. For now, we must do what we can here."

Fischer sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "You're right. I know Ari can take care of herself. I _know_ that. I'm just—" He scrubbed a hand across his eyes. "I'm just tired."

"Then perhaps you should sleep as well," Saito suggested. "I will keep watch. If you are tired, there is no reason for you to stay up."

Smiling slightly, Fischer wondered how exactly he and Saito had gone from bitter business rivals to good friends so quickly. He guessed that going trough hell with someone was bound to make some lasting ties. "Yeah, if you don't mind I think I will turn in for a while. But if you want company, don't hesitate to wake me."

The corners of Saito's lips curled up. "Goodnight, Robert."

Fischer laughs and shakes his head. "Good _morning_, Takumi." He was halfway to the door when his phone rang, belting out a cheery, slightly tinny version of Katy Perry's _Teenage Dream._

Saito raised an eyebrow.

"It's Ariadne. She picked it, not me," Fischer defended, pulling it out of his pocket and flipping it open, cheeks slightly pink. "Hello? Ari?" After a beat or two of static, his eyes narrowed in concern, and he shot he quick glance at Saito.

"Ariadne? Are you there? Ari!"

_"Can you come pick us up?" _Her voice was low, and scared. Like she was calling the police because there was an intruder in the house and she was trying not to be found.

Fischer looked over at Saito again, frightened, this time. "Yes, we'll head out right away. But Ariadne, what's _wrong?_"

Saito rose gracefully from his seat, watching Fischer with concerned eyes. He went to the door, then paused to see if Fischer had any more information or instructions.

"_It—it's Mal. Cobb's wife. She started acting strangely, like a wild animal. She doesn't speak any more, and she's stopped accepting the hamburger Cobb brings her." _Her voice shook a little. _"Please hurry, Rob. She's trying to get out._"

"She's—_fuck,_ Ari, I told you it was a bad idea." He ran a frantic hand through his hair, and turned to see Saito disappearing into the hallway to wake Mike. "All right," he said, firmly. "Okay, we're on our way. Stay safe, Ariadne. We'll be there in three hours." Fischer was already following Saito down the hall to the rooms they'd set aside for sleep.

"Mark, wake up. We must leave immediately," Saito was saying as Fischer came through the door, pocketing his phone.

"What?" Mark asked, blinking tired brown eyes at the two of them, his blond hair mussed. He was still half asleep, but responded easily to the urgency in Saito's voice. "What's happened?"

"Miss Ariadne requires our assistance in Colorado. Is the jet ready to fly?"

There was loud clap of thunder from above, startling all three of them. Mark looked quickly at Saito, who frowned.

"Can we even leave it this?" Fischer asked desperately, and Saito laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"We will leave as soon as we can."

**-o-**

An hour. It had taken a whole _hour_ for the storm to clear enough that Saito's jet would be able to take off. The jet itself was small, neat and streamlined as it shone wetly in the light of the runway.

One major advantage to the storm was that most of the zombies had retreated form open space to take cover in the empty houses and buildings of the city, leaving the runway clear for Saito, Fischer, and Mark to make their way to the plane. Mark got the door open and the stairs attached, and all three of them boarded.

"Okay," Mark said, taking his seat in the cockpit and pulling on his headphones, "It'll be about three hours to Colorado from here. Everyone settled?"

"Yes," Saito assured, and then they were speeding over the asphalt and up into the sky.

Fischer drummed his fingers on the armrest restlessly. He had promised Ariadne three hours, and now they were pushing four.

"Fuck, I can't believe I allowed to let her talk me into leaving her there with an obviously unstable man and his _zombie wife._ Jesus. How could I have been so stupid? What if—what if something's happened to her? I'll never forgive myself." Fischer paused, his teeth clenching. "Or Cobb either, for that matter."

"I'm sure Miss Ariadne will be all right," Saito said from his seat, poised and in control. His calm seemed to seep into Fischer, attempting to relax his shoulders or loosen his grip on the other armrest.

For the most part, it was unsuccessful.

"She's trapped in a house with an infected woman that they've no doubt been ordered not to shoot, Takumi," he said. "She's a strong girl, but she's only a college student. Whatever she's been taught by Arthur about weapons can only protect her so much. She's not a _soldier_."

He ran an aggravated hand through his hair, upsetting the neat strands.

"Besides, who the hell _are_ those people? I'd only ever met Arthur, and he's a fucking _zombie_ now! I left her in the hands of complete strangers!"

"She will be _fine_, Robert," Saito said again, firmly, though he himself seemed to be tensing up. He was trying to remain rational, for if both of them were panicking, the situation surely wouldn't end well. "You have to believe in her. She is a strong woman, is she not? And I am quite sure that even if Mr. Cobb will not comply, anyone else in that house would be willing to save the life of one who is healthy over that of one who is infected."

"If they're not infected themselves, or so interested in self-preservation they'd sacrifice _her_ to live," Fischer muttered darkly, shifting anxiously in his seat and staring out the window. "No, you're right. I'm sure she'll be..." He sighed. "It's just—I can't lose her."

"She is very special to you?" It seemed to Saito that this was something Fischer needed to talk about. So he let him.

"Special? Ariadne's pretty much the only person I care about. I never really made friends as a child, and those I did were only around because I was _Robert Fischer._ They'd all been pre-selected, anyway, to give me a good image. But I met Ariadne in a coffee shop two years ago."

He laughed, and it warmed Saito's heart to see his serious friend so happy. Even though they had really only been personally acquainted for less than a month, the days had been very revealing. Saito knew Ariadne must certainly be something if the mere thought of her could make Fischer smile.

"Did you know, she didn't even know who I was? When I introduced myself and waited for what I assumed was the inevitable, she just looked up at me and said that she'd pegged me as a Rob from the start. I asked her out to dinner, and she said yes."

He laughed again, but it was quieter, more introspective. "My father was furious, of course, when it got out that I was seeing a college student instead of the daughter of his partner company, but I couldn't help myself. She's amazing. She didn't even leave me when that fight between Father and Uncle Peter broke out."

Saito shifted slightly. "Robert-san, I am sorry to interrupt you, but I feel that there is something I must tell you now."

"Yes? What is it?" Fischer asked, curious. Saito sounded so serious.

"I was responsible for the scandal between your father and his friend."

Fischer blinked, then looked slightly uncomfortable. "That? You made Uncle Peter sleep with my mother all those years ago?" He cleared his throat. This was still a touchy subject for him, since even though the actual _act_ was old, the pain from the news was still fresh in his mind. The look on Uncle Peter's face when he'd seen the headlines… Fischer shook his head, trying to laugh it off. "No offense, Takumi, but I doubt even _you_ are that persuasive."

"I can truthfully say I had no hand in the actual act, but I am responsible for it coming to light publicly." Saito briefly flicked his eyes away. "Are you familiar with The Extractors?"

"The circle of corporate criminals? Yes, we've had our run-ins with them before." He let out a small breath of incredulous laughter. "So, that was their work? I can't say I'm surprised. In fact, I probably should have guessed. After being buried for twenty years, I guess it _was_ a bit odd for the information to surface."

"Yes, on my commission. It would have been irreversibly damaging to my company for Browning's business deal with Green Mountain Energy to go through." Saito studied Fischer's face and was surprised to be met not with a glare, or shouting, but with a dull look of acceptance.

"Thank you for telling me. I wish I could be angry with you for what you put me through, but I just don't see the point now. It's over with, and all parties concerned are—" He paused, then took a breath. "_No longer with us. _Now we should just do our best to survive."

They were both quiet for a moment.

"I doubt the Fischer energy conglomerate has a future, anyway," Fischer said suddenly. "What with Maurice dead and half the world gone. Or maybe you and I can team up and we will be the only future."

"Perhaps," Saito agreed, and they exchanged few other words for the rest of the flight.

**-ooo-**

**12:00 pm, Gunnison, Colorado**

The plane touched down in the smoking remains of Gunnison-Crested Butte Regional airport, and Fischer would have jumped out of the plane if Saito would have let him. Mark opened the door as soon as they had made sure there were no zombies waiting outside.

"Good luck to the both of you," Mark said as he grabbed his pack and checked to make sure his guns were all loaded. "I can't go with you to find your girl, Rob. I have to find my family. I hope she's safe, though."

"I do not think you should go off alone," Saito said, frowning. "Come with us, and once we have secured Miss Ariadne, we will go to find your wife and daughters."

"I can't." Mark handed Fischer his bag with a smile. "Now that we're here, I just can't wait that long to see them. To know if they're okay. I'll keep my phone on. When we've both found who we're looking for, let's all go back to New York. Together."

Fischer looked conflicted, but he knew how mark must feel. He was already itching to get on the road and out to Bonanza, to reunite with Ariadne. He held out his hand.

"Stay safe, Mark. I hope you find your family well, and if you get into any trouble, you call us. Don't take any unnecessary risks."

Mark smiled and wrapped Fischer's hand in his warm grip. "I was a marine. I don't _do_ unnecessary risks." His smile dropped for only a second, and then it was back, softer. "You guys stay safe, too. I want to see you again."

Saito nodded to him, and then shook his hand as well. "You will. Do not worry."

Then they secured the plane and headed off into the hostile world in opposite directions.

**-ooo-**

**1:20 pm, Bonanza, Colorado**

"Ariadne?" Fischer was out of the stolen car so fast that it hadn't even stopped moving before his feet were on the ground. The house was quiet, but the front door was ajar. He could feel his breath catch in his throat.

"Ariadne!"

It was only Saito's hand on his shoulder that kept him from charging recklessly into the house. Instead, he slowed and took a breath before checking to see that his gun was loaded and approaching the door at a more careful pace.

Bracing his shoulder against the wood, he pushed the door fully open and swung his gun in a wide arc of cover.

Nothing moved inside.

He lowered his gun slightly and jerked his head to call Saito over. Together they stepped into the wreckage of what once must have been a beautiful foyer. There was a shattered vase in front of them, littering the floor with blue glass gems and cheerfully colored fake flowers. Beyond them laid a fragmented table, its dark wood as splintered as the mirror that reflected their shocked faces.

There were long, uneven scores in the walls that lead to the dining area, and the wooden doorframe had a butcher's knife embedded in it. His anxiety rising, Fischer turned the corner into the kitchen. All of the chairs were either tipped over or knocked askew, and the cup of writing utensils usually by the phone was on the ground, its pens and pencils spread out in an artful arc around the feet they saw sticking out from behind the counter.

"Oh God…"

And then Fischer was there, kneeling next to Ariadne, brushing her hair out of her face and trying to see if she was all right, if she had been bitten, if she was injured…

"…Ro…b?"

"Shhh, Ari, it's okay. I'm here. How do you feel? What happened?"

"I…I think I hit my head." The girl winced and struggled a little to sit up, and Fischer had to help her. "Where is everyone else?"

"We were kind of hoping you could tell us," Fischer answered, glancing around the house again. "How long were you out?"

"Not long, I don't think. For a long time Mal just stalked around in the back hall and the bedrooms. She only recently started attacking. …Where is she? Is she—"

Saito, who had left them to check the rooms, returned with a man who looked to be African and a young blond boy. From another room down the hall came a nervous man with messy black hair and shifting dark eyes.

Appearing from upstairs came an older man and woman, the man armed with a baseball bat and the woman with a broom.

"This is Yusuf and James," Saito informed him, gesturing to each of his two companions in turn when they were closer.

"Nash," the jumpy one said from where he stood, hanging back.

"I'm Miles and this is Marie," the elderly man greeted. "We're certainly glad to some other survivors."

"_Minna,_" Saito continued, "I am Saito Takumi, and this is Robert Fischer."

Fischer inclined his head, and then turned back to Ariadne. "How many other people were in the house?"

"Well…There was Cobb, Eames, Mal…and _Phillipa_. James, where's your sister?"

The boy blinked, but was unresponsive. Worried, Ariadne turned her gaze to Yusuf.

"Yusuf? What happened? Where's Cobb? And Mal? I hit my head and passed out when she jumped over the counter, but she just passed me by completely."

"The last time I saw anyone else was when Cobb and Eames went chasing after her and Arthur."

"Wait, _Arthur was here?_" Ariadne's head spun, but she couldn't tell if it was from the injury or the information. What was Arthur doing there? When had he…?

"Uncle Arthur took Phillipa away with him."

Everyone turned to look at James.

"What?" Fischer asked. James looked at him in a long-suffering way.

"Uncle Arthur came when—when _Maman_ got out. Through the back door, and he—he grabded Phil." The boy sniffled, and then began to cry in earnest. Marie stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, picking him up and carrying him away from the group, murmuring comforting words.

Miles ducked into the bathroom and came back with some gauze and antibiotic spray, handing it to Fischer. Thanking him quietly, Fischer used a wet paper towel to clean off most of the blood from Ariadne's face, then sprayed and bandaged the wound on her temple.

Yusuf cleared his throat. "Arthur tried to grab James, too, but Mal attacked him and chased him off. It was weird. They were animalistic, and I've never seen the infected act that way. After that, Cobb and Eames took off after them."

"How long ago, Yusuf? When did they leave?"

Yusuf's reply was interrupted by a crash from the back hallway, and then a swear. Muted voices floated down from the open doorway, one low and soothing, the other agitated.

Fischer dropped his hand to his gun.

"Don't shoot," Ariadne said when the two men appeared in the door. "That's them."

Cobb had a shaking Phillipa in his arms, and he was murmuring softly to her, rocking her gently. Eames's mouth was drawn into a thin line, and his eyes were pained. Ariadne knew the Fischer was searching for bites on him, but she could tell it wasn't physical injury.

She'd seen that look before, when they'd left Arthur behind.

"Eames?" she said quietly after a moment, allowing Cobb the time to comfort Phillipa. "What happened?"

He was silent until she carefully stepped over and put a hand on his arm.

"He—pet, that's blood. Are you _bleeding._" Immediately, he raised a hand to Ariadne's head, trying not to let the fear creep into his voice. "Are you all right? You haven't been—"

"She's fine," Fischer said firmly, stepping forward.

"Well, thank you for saying so, Mr. Fischer, but I'd like to make sure for myself, if you _don't mind_," Eames snapped, and his tone left no room for argument.

Fischer's eyes narrowed, but he let Eames examine Ariadne.

"You should be fine," the conman finally agreed, sounding relieved. He stepped back and turned to look at Fischer. "Nice to finally meet you, I suppose. My name is Eames."

He didn't hold out his hand, but Ariadne didn't blame him when she saw why.

"Eames, is that _blood_ on your hand?" Nervously, she inched a step backward.

"It is, but it's not mine."

"Not yours? But it can't be _Arthur's_—" The disbelief was heavy in her voice, accompanied by a sort of sad shock.

But Eames shook his head.

"Cobb wouldn't let me get close enough for it to be Arthur's." There was a dark look that flitted across his face as he tightened his hand around the blood on his palm.

Cobb wasn't looking at him.

"Then whose…?"

"It belongs to the man I killed," the conman said matter-of-factly, meeting her eyes unflinchingly, daring her to say something. Anything.

She gasped and took a step back.

"Was he infected?" Fischer asked worryingly, raising a steadying hand to the small of her back.

"No."

"What do you _mean_ 'no'?" Fischer demanded.

"Did he attack you?" Nash fretted, but Eames just shook his head. "What _happened?_"

_"What do you mean?"_ Fischer snapped again, pulling Ariadne away from Eames protectively.

Saito watched impassively.

"I _mean_ that the man was in perfect health before I suddenly and painfully ended his life."

"Then why did you kill him?" Yusuf asked quietly, sadly.

Miles and Marie had taken James and Phillipa into the next room over, not wanting them to hear any more of this.

Eames laughed humorlessly and Cobb flinched. "Because he no longer mattered to me." He turned away from their shocked expressions and headed for the door, tucking his gun into his waistband as he went. He grabbed the doorknob and was halfway to the steps before anyone spoke.

"Where are you going?" Ariadne whispered, but it was too loud in the silence.

"Out," Eames replied shortly. "I need some time to think."

"Will…will you be coming back?" Ariadne made a great effort to keep her voice from shaking. She could tell from Fischer's body language behind her that he thought it was best that Eames didn't return—they didn't need a cold-blooded killer in their midst—but she didn't care about that.

Eames had saved her life. He was her _friend_. If the man hadn't been infected, there _must_ have been a reason.

"Maybe. I don't know." Tiredly, Eames scrubbed a hand over his face. His shoulders dropped dejectedly. "I just don't know, Ariadne. I have no reason to come back."

Ariadne flinched. "Do we really mean so little to you that you'd just _abandon_ all of us? After all we've been through?"

Eames didn't say anything, just turned to go.

"But—but what about the cure?" She pulled away from Fischer and took a few steps forward, beseechingly. "Don't you need—"

"Not anymore." Eames's shoulders tensed back up. "The cure is no longer of interest to me." He stepped outside.

"Why?"

Yusuf's question paused the conman on the first step, and Cobb pressed a hand to his eyes, briefly.

"Why?" Eames repeated, softly. "Because the man I shot five times in the chest with his own gun—the man who _wasn't_ infected or attacking me or threatening my safety in any way—he killed Arthur."

The door clicked quietly shut behind him.

* * *

Dun dun dun... :) See you next week!


	10. You have only one step to the grave

Hey, everyone! Sorry this is up late. I wish I could say it was someone else's fault, but I just got so caught up in writing my entry for i_reversebang over at LJ that I completely forgot to edit this chapter for Friday. Whoops. So, here's this week's chapter. :)

My beta, VergOfTowels, is amazing. :)

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**6:20 pm, Bonanza, Colorado**

Fischer awkwardly handed Ariadne another tissue as she mopped at her eyes and messily blew her nose. He had never really known how to comfort a crying woman—it wasn't something they taught in business school. And he'd always been horribly inept when it came to _personal_ relationships.

"It's just that—that—oh God. I'm sorry, Rob. I must look _great_ right now." Ariadne choked out a half-hearted, watery laugh that melted into another barely-contained sob. "I'm sorry."

"No, Ari. _I'm_ sorry." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, laying his cheek on the top of her head as she turned her face to cry into his collar. "I wish there was something else I could say."

"I mean, there was hope before, right? Not much, but _some_. Hell, I've already lost my _parents_, and now Arthur, too." She blew her nose again and rubbed at her eyes defeatedly. "Now I don't really have anything to hope for."

The silence thickened, punctuated only by her quiet sniffles.

Finally, Cobb pushed himself off the doorframe and looked around at everyone: Ariadne and Fischer on the couch, Saito in one armchair with Miles standing behind him, and Yusuf perched on the arm of Nash's recliner…and Phillipa, kneeling down just behind the couch's checkered cover. She had crept passed her grandmother in the confusion the ensued after Eames's departure and the pattern of her dress made her almost invisible.

"Phil, go back into the other room with Grandma," he commanded, and she flinched.

"Dad, I don't want to." She stood and braced her little hands on her hips, lip stuck out petulantly. "I'm eight, now. I think I'm old enough to hear this. Uncle Arthur got _shot_, Dad. I was _there._" She paused, the words seeming to catch in her throat as she fought to keep her brave expression. "And you didn't bring _Maman_ back with us."

Cobb opened his mouth. And closed it. And opened it again.

"Phillipa…"

"It's all right, Dad. You don't have to say anything. But just tell me, is Uncle Eames coming back?" Her eyes were innocently wide as her hands slipped from her hips to hang limply at her sides, leaving her small and fragile. "Now that he's—well, Grandma says the word for it is 'widower.'"

Cobb sighed and rubbed a hand across his eyes, shaking his head. "You haven't told James about Uncle Arthur, have you?"

"No," she responded honestly. "Only Grandma and Grandpa. I didn't want to make him sad."

Cobb nodded. "Thanks, Phil. Hey, why don't you go back and stay with him, all right?"

"But Dad—"

We can talk later, you and I. I promise. Okay?"

"…Okay, Dad," she said finally, slowly. "You _promised_. Everyone here heard it. I'll talk to you later." She said goodbye to everyone solemnly and left the room.

"Bye, Phil," Ariadne murmured softly.

"So," Yusuf sighed after a long moment, breaking the silence. "What now?" He looked mostly at Cobb as he said this, because he knew that Saito and Fischer were most likely going back to New York, and Ariadne was probably going with them.

It had been five hours, and Eames still hadn't come back.

"Well," Cobb began, sounding weary, "I think the best option right now is for all of us to go to New York. Mr. Saito is offering us the use of his advanced lab facilities, and what we need most right now is the cure."

Ariadne blinked. "What? But—but what about Mal?"

The thief shook his head sadly. "She's gone. Somewhere. I don't know what's happening, but the infected seem to be losing what little humanity they had left. I don't know what's _causing_ it, but it's certainly happening."

"They no longer speak," Yusuf agreed. "And now it seems that they are no longer recognizing the people they knew—"

"That's…not entirely true," Cobb interrupted, glancing up to meet everyone's surprised eyes. "You see, the thing is—"

He took a breath.

"Mal didn't know me. Or Phillipa, really, I don't think. At least, that's what I'm choosing to believe, because the only alternative is that she's actively trying to kill _us_. I mean, all zombies eat their loved ones, but it was usually just because they were easier to get a hold of. Now I don't know _what_ to think. But Arthur—" He sighed. "Arthur paused when he saw Eames. Only for a second, but—" Once again, he hesitated. "But we never got to find out why, because then he got shot. By the time we'd recovered, Mal had dropped Phil and run off."

"That is…very interesting," Saito said contemplatively. "Perhaps it was because your wife had been exposed to both you and your daughter after she turned, but Mr. Arthur had not?"

"Maybe," Cobb agreed, sounding worn.

"Or maybe it's because Arthur's been infected for a shorter time," Ariadne suggested. "Cobb, did Mal still address you affectionately for a while after she turned?"

"She did, actually," Cobb replied, brow furrowing. "She used to tell me that she loved me, and that she missed the children." He looked pained.

"Maybe they weren't as emotionless as we thought, then," she continued. "Maybe it's just worse now. Maybe the transformation's not complete yet, and they're, well, they're getting _cruel._"

"That's very possible," Yusuf said, leaning forward in interest. "Of course, I won't know until I get the chance to study the chemical makeup of their brains in more detail. I have a completed draft of the vaccine, that I'd like to test, but—" Suddenly, he sighed and looked reluctant to go on.

"What is it?" Cobb asked. Yusuf remained quiet for another moment, thinking of how best to phrase his question.

Finally, he just came out and said, "I want to look at Arthur's remains."

Cobb nodded.

_"What?"_ Ariadne gasped, almost standing but for Fischer's soothing hand on her arm. "No! You can't _dissect_ Arthur! Eames won't let you! Hell, _I_ won't let you!"

"Ariadne—" Fischer began, trying to calm her, but she pulled away from him and launched to her feet.

"No! Rob, you don't even get a say in this, since you didn't _know_ Arthur. And Yusuf, I can forgive you, because you'd only just met him. But Cobb. _Cobb_. How can you even _think_ about _cutting him up?_ He drove across the continent, would have gone into a dangerous, quarantined zone to find you and your family, and you're just going to let Yusuf—let Yusuf—"

Her argument trailed into frustrated sobs, eyes squeezed shut and hands clenched into fists.

Fischer stood and gently wrapped his arms around her, and she buried her face into his neck. He rubbed soothing circles on her back and muttered comforting nothings into her hair until she began to quiet.

Saito handed her his handkerchief when she pulled away, and she nodded her thanks, dabbing at her eyes.

"Ariadne," Cobb said, eyes compassionate but voice firm, "I'm going to let Yusuf look at Arthur's…remains." He held up a hand to stall her protest. "Please, let me explain. I know you and I haven't known each other long, and you have no one who can attest to the quality of my character, but we do have one very important thing in common: we both care for Arthur dearly."

He sighed and uncrossed his arms from his chest. "However, the Arthurs we knew were very different. And we can stay here and argue about who knew him longest, or who knew him better, and whether or not we know what's best for him, but the fact is that _Arthur is dead_." He seemed almost to choke on the words, but he persevered anyway.

"It's no longer _about_ what's best for him, but what's best for everyone else. Ariadne—" He stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. "We may have known completely different Arthurs, but they were the same man. And I'm sure, if you think about it, he would have told us to do this himself, if the possibility had ever occurred to him. Yusuf can test the vaccine with his tissues, and work from there."

"I know," she sighed sadly. "I know. You're right. But I still don't think we should be making any decisions about Arthur without Eames. They're married, aren't they?"

Cobb's hand dropped from her shoulder as his eyebrows rose in surprise. _"Are they?"_

"They're not, Ariadne," Nash said.

"Well, I mean I _know_ they _can't_ be. Eames said they'd broken up, and back in the lab he said he'd marry Arthur when this was all over, but no one can be that in love and fight all the time if they're _not_ married. So they have to be, right?"

"Oh pet, we would've been if I ever thought he'd say yes."

Eames was leaning against the wall, still dressed in his coat, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked tired—more tired than the world had the right to make anyone—but there was also and edge of _something else_ flickering in his eyes. He nodded to Cobb.

"Eames! You're back!" Ariadne ran over and hit him with a hug at full speed. "I'm glad. I thought you were leaving. I didn't even hear you come in."

"For a while, I was," he replied, gently pulling her off and shrugging his coat onto the back of a nearby chair. "But I decided against it. And it's no wonder you didn't hear me: you were too busy discussing my personal life."

"I'm so happy you're back," Ariadne responded. "Oh! Watch out!"

"Uncle Eames! Uncle Eames!" James ran out of the other room and nearly latched himself onto Eames's leg, but Phillipa grabbed his wrist and tugged him back to where she was standing a few feet away. When she looked at Eames, there was only fear in her eyes.

"Children, I think it would be best for you to come eat some dinner," Marie suggested softly as she came out of the other room at a more sedate pace.

"I don't want to, Gramma," James said. He started trying to pull his arm out of Phillipa's grip. "Come _on_, Phil, let go. I wanna hug Uncle Eames."

"No," Phillipa insisted quietly. "You should stay here, James. It's not safe. _He's_ not safe."

James stared at her, confused. "But, Phil—"

And as he looked at the small girl, Eames could see the horror in her eyes; see the bullet through Arthur's head, the blood of the man Eames had murdered. He glanced away, silent.

"I miss Uncle Arthur," James whispered when it seemed like no one else was going to speak, and Phillipa shot him a panicked look that practically screamed _be quiet_.

"Me, too, James," Eames sighed. "But don't worry. We'll see him soon. I promise."

Cobb sent him a sharp look, but James favored him with a wide grin. Phillipa just took another step back, shaking her head sadly.

"You really mean it?" The young boy's eyes practically sparkled as he looked up at Eames, and Eames smiled slightly and ruffled his hair.

"With all my heart."

"Yay!" James yanked his arm out of Phillipa's grip and hugged Eames's leg, his eyes shut tight in happiness. Phillipa wrapped her arms around herself, as if she were cold. She couldn't believe it. Just couldn't.

"Children, dinner," Marie insisted again, and this time James reluctantly let go of Eames to follow his grandmother into the kitchen. Phil sent one last, indescribable look over her shoulder at Eames, and then disappeared into the kitchen.

When they were gone, Cobb rounded on Eames, practically spitting fire.

"Why did you tell them something like that, Eames? Are you _trying_ to give them false hope—"

"It's not false hope, Cobb. When I left earlier, I intended to go back and give Arthur a proper burial, but he wasn't there. He _wasn't there,_ Cobb." The conman's eyes shone with hope, and Cobb felt his heart clench.

"Eames, that doesn't mean anything. He could have been dragged off by some wild animal." The _or another zombie_ was unspoken, but quite clear.

"No. That's not what happened." Eames shook his head. "I've seen the tracks left by a body getting dragged away first hand, Cobb. I _know_ what it looks like. So unless he was picked up by a pterodactyl, he got up and walked away. The infected heal, Cobb, they _heal_ and I think that's what happened to Arthur."

Slowly, a little bit of light returned Ariadne's eyes. "A—alive? He could be okay?" She started to smile, if only a small one. "Did you hear that, Rob? Arthur's okay. He's going to be okay!"

Fischer smiled, too, if only because he was glad to see her so happy. By now, she was practically glowing. He wrapped his arms around her and felt her sigh into his neck, the warmth of her joy drying the tears out of his collar.

Suddenly, Nash piped up, "Whose phone is ringing?"

Everyone stopped to listen, and sure enough, there was the distant jingle of a ringtone coming from somewhere in the house. Out of ingrained instinct, almost everyone got up to see if they could find where it was coming from. Finally, Yusuf paused by the door of his lab.

"It's coming from down here. That would make it—"

"Arthur's," Eames finished. "I'll go—"

"No," Yusuf cut in, "_I'll_ go get it. I know you're not stupid, but I can't chance anything happening to that draft."

Eames stepped back quickly to let Yusuf go down into the lab. A few seconds later, he returned holding Arthur's BlackBerry. He handed it to Eames.

"I don't know the number," he said, then showed it to Cobb.

Cobb checked the display screen and shook his head. "Me, either. I don't think it's from _our_ world. Ariadne?"

"No. Just answer it," she said, and Cobb nodded and raised it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Allô, oui? _Arthur? _Ah, non, tu n'as pas _Arthur._ Qui parle?"

"_C'est_ Dominic Cobb. _Qui est à l'appareil?"_

"Wait, French?" Ariadne exclaimed, listening to the crackling female voice hissing out of the phone speaker. "Cobb! Give it here!"

Bemused, Cobb lowered the phone from his ear for an instant, and Ariadne snatched it out of his hand. He blinked and opened his mouth to protest, but it was already too late: Ariadne was talking.

"You're Arthur's sister, right? Jennifer?" She sent a reassuring smile to Cobb, her heart already breaking at the thought of having to tell Jennifer that her brother had been infected. Eames, she noted, looked quite interested.

_"Yeah, I'm Jenny. Look, I'm really sorry, but who are you? Where the hell is my brother? What's happened to him?"_

"Actually—" Suddenly, there was a growl and the deafening pop of a shot from the other end, and Ariadne launched forward in her seat, as if she could run across the ocean and help the woman herself. "Jenny? Jenny are you all right?"

In the long minute of silence, Ariadne's face must have dropped, because Fischer laid a comforting hand on her arm.

_"I'm fine,"_ Jenny said tersely. _"You still haven't answered any of my questions. Where is my brother?"_

"Jenny, it's Ariadne."

_"A—Ariadne?_ Jenny's voice was a little shaken. _"You're there with Arthur? That's good. I'm glad you're safe. But please, please, I need to talk with Arty. Please tell me he's there._"

"Jenny, I—" Ariadne closed her eyes, feeling fresh tears start prickling behind her eyelids. "I'm sorry."

Jenny said nothing for a long moment. _"I…I can't believe it. No. That's impossible. That's impossible, right? Oh, _Dieu." She let out a shuddering sob, and Ariadne heard the phone fuzz with static as Jenny lowered it from her ear.

Faintly Ariadne heard, "_Roddy._ Roddy. Pour l'amour de Dieu, prends le téléphone. _Just take the Goddamn phone!"_

She bit her lip.

_"Hello?"_ came the voice from the other end, so heartbreakingly familiar that Ariadne had to force herself not to cry. Rodderick sounded just like his brother; a little deeper, maybe, with a more pronounced accent, but…

"Hey. It's Ariadne. Do you remember me?" It was a long shot, since she and Rodderick had never really spoken when they'd been neighbors all those years ago. Arthur was seven years older than her, and Rodderick was four years older than that.

They'd never really had much to talk about.

_"What did you say to her?"_ he demanded. _"What did you tell my sister?"_

"Arthur—he got bitten." It worried her that it as getting easier to say. Easier to accept, almost, and the thought of that was too hard to handle.

_"Non. He couldn't be—_" Rodderick cut himself off with an aggrieved, sorrowful sigh. "_And so the DeLacey family is down to three._"

"Three?" Ariadne asked, alarmed. "But there are five—"

"_There_ were_ five_," Rodderick corrected harshly. "_That was until Ma got bitten. We didn't—we _couldn't _shoot her. She got away. We don't know where she is now_." And then, just like that, all of the anger and toughness in his voice fell away, leaving only a ringing, inconsolable sorrow. _"And now you tell me that my baby brother is gone, too."_

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Ariadne murmured softly over and over, and she heard what she thought to be a sob before static drowned out the voices once again.

_"Allô? This is Ariadne, yes?" _

The strong French accent took her a minute to pick through, but she answered the affirmative when she finally realized what had been said.

"_And you say my son has been infected. Arthur. Arthur DeLacey._"

"Yes, sir. I saw it with my own eyes. I'm sorry about your loss. Um…_je—je regrette?"_

"Très bien, ma petite _Ari,"_ he said with the ghost of humor in his voice. "_You have not improved since you were_ une petite fille."

"I know, Papa. I tried for a long time to fix that." She had grown up learning some French from the DeLaceys next door in Paris; Madame DeLacey, Rodderick and Jenny (going to college), and the DeLacey grandparents. Their father had stayed behind to manage the weapons shop and to watch over Arthur, who was still at boarding school in the US. They called every day and visited when they could. The family was from a very French background, and all of their hearts truly lay in their native land.

They had all gotten along famously, with Ariadne spending so much time at the DeLacey house (so much time indeed, that she began to call Arthur's father _Papa_ when he visited). Arthur had moved up during summer break, and even though she was only seven and he was fourteen, they had become the closest of friends.

Then she had moved away, and America had stolen all but the basics of the eloquent language from her.

_"Well, keep trying. Something tells me you will have a long time to practice before we meet again."_

"Don't say that," Ariadne begged, but she knew in her heart that it was true. "I'll see you soon."

_"Perhaps. But now, before I go, I insist to talk to the young man Arthur had been involving himself with. Is he there?"_

Ariadne's eyes shot up to land on Eames, a kind of panicked look overtaking her features. "Um…" she hedged, while Eames's eyebrows rose. "Uh, well…"

_"Put him on,_ s'il te plait. _I very much wish to know who it is that my youngest had been seeing, and telling us all about."_ The weak amusement in his voice was strained, and Ariadne knew that he was trying to distract himself from the awful truth hanging over his head. She held the BlackBerry out to Eames.

"Um, Arthur's _dad_ wants to talk to you," she said hesitantly. Eames pointed a finger innocently at himself.

"Me?"

"Yeah. He wants to know what kind of person Arthur's been seeing." She looked kind of mortified as she deposited the phone into Eames's now-outstretched palm.

"'Ello?" he said, somewhat haltingly, wondering why on earth he was so nervous. It was only a phone call, after all. A simple phone call. …To Arthur's _dad._ Who, come to think of it, he had never actually met. He'd heard a few stories, now and then; little details from Arthur when the man had been feeling particularly relaxed or open.

He forced himself to suck it up when he heard Nash snicker.

_"British."_

Eames swallowed. He supposed he now knew where Arthur got his disapproving tone from—he had never heard _anyone_ fit so much disdain into _one word._

"Why, yes, I am. Is that a problem?" He had always known Arthur was French, but he had never thought that it would cause any problems, really.

_"It is only a problem if you weren't treating my son correctly. Why are you here now? Haven't you and Arthur stopped seeing each other?"_ The suspicion was heavy, and, quite frankly intimidating to lesser men, but Eames smiled to hear it.

"It's true that Arthur and I…had our disagreements, but in the face of everything that's happened, we decided to give it another go. And sir, I can promise you that I treat your son like a king, whenever he allows me to." He hoped that Arthur's father took that as truth, because it was. He was expecting doubt, a little skepticism, maybe. He expected a lot of things.

The laugh, though, surprised him.

"_I'll bet that he didn't allow it often,_ Monsieur…"

And suddenly, Eames wondered if this meant he was approved of. Not that it really mattered, seeing as Eames would marry Arthur either way, but it was nice.

"Eames." He shot a brief glance at Yusuf, then said, "Sir, a friend of mine is developing a cure for the effects of the vaccine. He already has a draft of it done."

For a long moment, Arthur's father is quiet. "_Is that the truth? Do you trust this man?"_

"Yes, I do. So I'm sorry if this seems a trifle sudden, since you've only just met me, but I'm interested in your son's hand in marriage."

Eames didn't have to look to know that Cobb's eyes widened. He could see Ariadne's grin and Yusuf's slightly opened mouth, though, and those were enough to make him smile as well.

_You're always horribly unpredictable,_ Arthur had told him, once.

There was silence on the end of the line as Eames supposed Arthur's father thought it over. After a long while, there was a sigh.

_"You sound like the kind of person who asks just to ask. You would have done it even if I said no?"_

"Would have? Sir, I fully intend to marry your son. It would be _nice_ to have your permission, but I'm afraid you've pegged my character quite accurately. If the cure works, then I am going to marry Arthur."

_"And if it doesn't?"_

Eames paused, a shadow flickering across his face. Almost as if Cobb had heard what had been said, he stood and placed his hand on Eames's shoulder.

"I hadn't really thought about it," Eames answered honestly. "Because it will. But if worse comes to worst, I'll take Arthur out myself. And then—"

_"I understand,"_ Arthur's father cut in, saving Eames from elaborating. _"You have my permission."_

"I see—wait, what?" Eames blinked, and then grinned. "Thank you very much, sir. I know it will mean a lot to Arthur." He nodded his okay to Cobb, and Cobb stepped back, letting his hand fall from Eames shoulder.

_"If you don't make him happy, you will have all of us to deal with, I hope you know."_

"Well, you can have your shot at me if there's anything left once Arthur's done with me," Eames chuckled. "I'll meet you and your family soon, Monsieur DeLacey."

"Au revoir, Monsieur _Eames. Oh, and do me one favor,_ d'accord?"

"Yes?"

_"When that vaccine is made, make sure some gets to France. I would very much like to introduce you to my wife."_

"Of course, sir. I can't wait to meet her. Tell Arthur's siblings that I say hello, would you?"

_"I will. And rest assured that you will hear from them, and _soon. _Jenny will tear you to shreds."_

"I wouldn't want it any other way. Goodbye, sir."

"_Goodbye_, Monsieur _Eames."_

Eames hung up and lowered the phone with a slightly bemused look on his face. He turned to face everyone to find almost everyone smiling. Fischer looked slightly confused, but happy for him, Eames supposed. Ariadne was grinning like a madwoman.

"I…think I just got permission to marry him," Eames said, and she squealed.

"Congrats!" she exclaimed, hugging him. "When all of this shit—when the world is back to normal, can I plan the bridal shower?"

The absurdity of the statement shocked Eames into silence, before he smiled gently. When all of _this_ was over, indeed. It felt…_good_ to think about a life beyond this hell. _Normal. _It had been so long since any of them had allowed themselves the luxury of feeling that way.

"Ari, I don't think Mr. DeLacey wants a bridal shower," Fischer said with a shake of his head.

"Oh, come off it, Rob. I think he'd love one. We can give him practical things, like guns and stuff. Really. You have no idea how this works."

"You're right, I don't," said Fischer, looking a little bit uncomfortable, a little nervous. Eames raised his eyebrow, and then a knowing glint flashed in his eyes. Fischer frowned at him.

"Well, then please be quiet." Ariadne kissed his cheek. "So, can I, Eames?"

"You may have to fight Mal for it," Cobb interrupted, a small smile on his face. "Or you could plan together."

"We'll see," Eames said. "It depends on whether or not Arthur accepts."

"Well," Yusuf said, standing. "Now that that's been settled, I still need a subject to study the effects of my preliminary compound."

"Yusuf—" Eames began, looking apologetic.

"Oh, have some more faith in me, Eames," Yusuf said with a half smile. "I'm the best, after all. The fate of the world on my shoulders? Not a problem." He stretched and then walked to his basement door. "Mr. Fischer, you and Mr. Saito are welcome to stay. There's plenty of room. I need to go work on the amnesiac."

"Amnesiac? For what?" Nash asked.

"For the vaccine. What's the point of saving someone if they have to live with the memories of eating their families and friends for the rest of their lives?"

With that he disappeared down the stairs, leaving the mood somewhat more solemn than before.

**-ooo-**

**Somewhere outside of Bonanza, Colorado**

_"Arthur?"_

_"Yes, Mal?"_

_"Are you all right?"_

_"Yes, Mal."_

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See? Life gets better. :) I hope you all enjoyed! Thanks to those of you who have already reviewed, and please do it again! :D See you all next Friday!


	11. Soon closes the door that invites you in

**November 24, 2013: 11:45 pm, Bonanza, Colorado**

"I hate this," Cobb sighed, collapsing in frustration on the couch next to Eames. "I hate this waiting. There's nothing I can do to help Yusuf, and it's killing me."

"I know exactly what you mean," the conman agreed, flipping another page of the book he'd borrowed from Saito, before the other man had gone to bed. Saito knew he would sleep well after contacting Mark to see how the search for his family was going, pleased to find out that they were all alive and well. "However, I've always known I had more patience than you," Eames continued. "Arthur owes me five dollars."

Cobb snorted, but he relaxed slightly.

Suddenly, Ariadne looked up from where she sat on Fischer's lap in the armchair, reading. She'd finally wrestled the young businessman out of his suit and into a grey turtleneck and slacks, and was quite comfortable right there, thank you very much.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" Fischer asked distractedly, not looking up from the paper he was reading around Ariadne.

"There it is again." She sat forward slightly, eyes narrowing as she tried to pinpoint it. "Can't you hear it?"

"Hear what? It's probably crickets, or the house settling. I'm sure it's nothing."

"_Rob_—there. Again." She stood up. "What _is_ that?"

By now, Eames had stopped reading and cocked his head to the side. "…That?"

"_Yes_, thank you. I'm not crazy." She huffed and listened again. "It sounds kind of like…like a pencil being dropped a few rooms over. It's really quiet, but…"

Cobb held up his hand, and soon all noise in the room stopped. And though they were all listening for it only Eames and Ariadne heard it. Faintly, very faintly—

_Click._

Silence.

_Click._

"A clock?" Nash offered nervously from where he sat on the floor next to the cold fireplace, though he still didn't know what they were talking about. He looked uncomfortable, but he had declined a chair when they'd offered. Instead he preferred to curl his legs close to his body, protectively.

"No," Eames said. "It's a bit too irregular to be a clock."

"The heating system?" Ariadne suggested, hopefully. She looked a little freaked out, and no one blamed her. In the world today, almost every sound was worth worrying about.

"No—I think—it's coming from outside," said Fischer, finally hearing it. "Should we go check—"

Eames hadn't moved.

"It's a lighter."

"A—_what?_" asked Fischer, slightly confused. "What makes you say that?"

"Because I've clicked that case open and closed enough times to recognize it," the conman sighed, finally rising. "Arthur's outside."

"How do you know?" Cobb asked, not doubting, really. "Arthur doesn't—"

"Smoke, I know. Do you remember the die that Mal always told Arthur was lucky? Well, my luck is a silver lighter. I gave it to Arthur when we…parted at the Global MedCare facility. It always finds its way back to me."

Everyone fell silent for a moment, and Ariadne paled a little further in anxiety.

"If it's Arthur, then the transformation's probably complete. He won't recognize us," she said. "If possible, we should try to get him inside, under supervision, right? I mean…it's cold out."

"We can try," Cobb said, sounding doubtful now. "I don't think we'll be very successful. Unless we tranquilize him or something."

"I wouldn't chance a tranquilizer," Yusuf said as he came up from the lab, catching the end of the conversation. "I don't know what the chemical makeup of his body is now. It might not make any difference, but it might react badly with the cure when we administer it to him."

"He is _not_ going to be one of your subjects," Eames growled. He'd been sure he'd made that _abundantly_ clear. "We already got you someone."

"I know, Eames," Yusuf said, raising a placating hand. "I'm simply saying that I don't want to introduce any foreign agents into his bloodstream before we give him the vaccine, when it's _finished_. I don't know how long the tranquilizer would stay in his system."

"…Fair enough." Eames cocked his head to listen again. "It's coming from the front door, by the window that got smashed when Mal escaped."

"How do _you_ know?" Nash asked, voice shrill and grating. He still didn't hear it.

"Otherwise we wouldn't be able to _hear_ it, genius," Eames mocked, and got up to walk slowly into the shadowed arch of the entrance hall.

"Should we turn on the light?" Fischer questioned, his hand already straying towards the switch on the wall. Eames motioned for him to stop, eyes still fixed on the world beyond the decorative glass panels of the front door.

"No. We don't want him to know that _we_ know he's here. He might be able to hear us, but for now he can't see us. He'll be looking."

"Yeah, 'cause that's not creepy at _all_," Ariadne muttered under her breath as she and Fischer followed Eames into the entrance hall.

"He's a zombie, Ari," Fischer reminded her gently. "I think creepy is in his job description."

"Quiet, if you wouldn't mind," Eames said, pausing in front of the door. "I'm trying to figure out how far away from the door he is, and whether or not he's going to be right on top of me when I open it."

Dutifully, the rest of them fell quiet, allowing Eames the opportunity to pinpoint Arthur's location as best he could from the quiet clicks of the lighter. Finally, he sighed and stepped back slightly, letting his hand fall onto the doorknob.

"I don't think he's right outside. He's probably a little down the path. You have good ears, Ariadne."

She shrugged, just glad that all of them could hear it now that they were closer to the patched window.

Cobb nodded and withdrew his gun from his waistband, his eyes creasing with the pain of thinking about what he may have to do. Fischer and Nash moved to do the same, but Cobb shook his head, wary of having too many guns in the enclosed space of the doorway.

"Should we wake Saito?" Nash asked, suddenly. "I mean, it's good for him to know, right?"

"No, let him sleep," Fischer answered. "We can tell him in the morning if there's anything he needs to know. We're not waking anyone else, are we?"

"No," Cobb said firmly, then motioned for Fischer to take a post at the window. "Can you see him?" he asked.

Fischer shook his head. "It's too dark."

"Okay," Eames breathed. "On three, I'm going to open the door. Yusuf, you turn on the outside light. Cobb, Fischer, cover me. Everyone ready?"

Nods.

"One."

Fischer's hand tensed on the grip of his gun, his gaze searching the night as if he could tear it open.

"Two."

Cobb shifted to be in a better position to have sightlines on the path and surrounding area as Yusuf raised his hand to the wall switches.

"_Three._"

Eames's hand nearly slid off the doorknob due to his nervous sweat, but still the door exploded open, the glow from Yusuf's mounted lamps chasing itself down the cobblestone walkway and back up the steps to Eames's feet.

Cobb stepped forward and swung his gun in a wide arc of cover.

Midway down the path, crouched and halfway concealed by one of Yusuf's shrubs, was Arthur. When the light revealed him, he let out a half-strangled hiss and ducked back into the darkness, slipping behind the greenery like a shadow.

"I'm sorry, love," Eames said, half out of instinct, shouldering past Cobb. His heart ached. It wasn't so different, really. He'd heard Arthur make that noise before, back when they had spent a few nights together in a run-down motel in Hungary.

Arthur had never been a morning person.

"That's not Arthur," Yusuf said gently. "Not yet. You need to stop beating yourself up over this, Eames. You need to stop worrying about—"

"About what? About whether I'll actually even see him as himself? Whether he'll ever respond when I call him—"

"_Darling._"

"What?" Everyone, shocked, turned to stare out into the path, where Arthur crouched just on the edge of the light. His pupils were blown, wide and dark, and there was blood caked in a very telling way around his mouth.

"Oh, _Arthur,_" Eames choked out. "Bloody Nora." He took a step forward until Yusuf caught his arm.

"_Darling,_" Arthur repeated, tilting his head to one side. He retreated a few paces then slinked forward again, skittishly dancing at a distance with his lover, when Eames moved closer.

"He's just doing it to trick you, Eames," Yusuf cautioned. "Come back inside. Get off the doorstep."

"Something moved over there," Fischer hissed suddenly from the window, and Yusuf yanked Eames into the house just fast enough to avoid Mal as she sprung out of the bushes. Eames managed to catch a hold of the edge of the door, yanking it shut

"God_damn!_" Cobb exclaimed, all of them stumbling back from the unexpectedness of the motion. "Jesus _Christ_."

Through the glass, dark eyes flashed, then blurred as the pale face housing them retreated away from the door.

"Mal?" Cobb whispered.

Suddenly, Mal launched herself at them, slamming her hands on the door and snarling. Her lip curled up to reveal pink teeth, and here was blood clearly evident on her face. Slowly, she dragged her fingers down the wood, the varnish coming off under her chipped-polished nails.

Mal leaned her forehead against the middle glass panel.

"_Dom,_" she said, once, and then fled back to the shadows near Arthur. They had what appeared to be a silent conversation in nothing but expressions and body language, and then Arthur clicked the lighter open again.

_Click._

_Click._

Mal faded back into the darkness of the night, silent and swift, invisible in only a matter of seconds. Arthur lingered, if only for a moment, clicking the lighter open and shut and open again, the metal case flashing in the slight glow cast by the mounted lights.

"Arthur," Eames whispered, and it was heartbroken and tight in his throat as he watched the infected man slip slowly into the blackness after Mal.

"He's gone," Yusuf said gently, pulling Eames back away from the door and into the living room. The others waited in the entryway for a moment, unmoving, almost as if the seeping cold of the November night had frozen them in place. "There's nothing you can do for him now. Come on."

But Yusuf was wrong. When the house was silent, so silent, Eames could hear it. All night long, he could _hear_ it.

_Click._

_Click._

_Click—_

**-oooxooo-**

**November 25, 2013: 12:35 am, Bonanza, Colorado**

_"Arthur. Well, this is unexpected." Eames grins as he descends the stairs, hand already outstretched to shake that of the well-dressed young man when he reaches the bottom._

_"Indeed, though not unpleasant," the hacker returns, and Eames almost laughs at the fake surprise in his eyes. With Arthur, nothing is ever a coincidence._

_And there is no one else who could have supplied the client with Eames's contact details._

_"I must say, I am truly delighted to see you. It's been quite a while."_

_And even under the sweetness of Eames's light pleasantry, Arthur can hear the accusing sting. He sighs, only slightly, and briefly tightens his fingers around Eames's in their handshake as an apology before he lets go._

_"Yes, and I'm sorry about that. Work and life have kept me," is all he has to say in reply, at least while their employer watches from the balcony above._

_"Well, how fortunate that we should get to work together, then." Eames quirks his lips into a smile, a half-acceptance of Arthur's apology, glad that the hacker has chosen to recommend _him,_ even though Eames is well aware that there are several other conmen who live much closer than he._

_"Yes, fortunate. Meet me in my hotel room to discuss the job," Arthur says, all business, turning on his heel to leave after he has secured Eames's agreement._

_"I'll see you then, darling."_

_**-o-**_

_"James!" Arthur arches his back off the bed, eyes shut and head thrown back in bliss as Eames sucks on the pale skin under his jaw. The blankets are tangled down at the end of the bed, kicked down in the haze of passion._

_"Mmm…darling, darling," the conman mutters, kissing the shell of Arthur's ear as the slighter man collapses back against the mattress, eyes half-lidded and face flushed. His hair is mussed, strands breaking free from its once-gelled perfection and falling softly against his forehead._

_"I missed you," the hacker sighs, and it is the truth. Eames can tell._

_"I missed you, too, darling. I haven't seen you since you disappeared in France, back in April." Again, though Eames tries to hide it, the accusation laces itself into his words and makes Arthur cringe slightly._

_"I _am _sorry about that, James. I've been busy. I know it's a weak excuse, but…" He sighs, shoulders tensing as he waits for Eames to say something. Anything._

_Finally, Eames leans down and places a soft kiss onto Arthur's bare shoulder. "I forgive you. It's not really your fault. I could have tried harder, too."_

_Arthur shakes his head and presses his lips to Eames's. "Let's not worry about blame, then. It's too nice to see you."_

_"And you say _I'm_ the flatterer," the conman chuckles, rolling onto his side and tucking Arthur's head underneath his chin._

_"Oh just go to sleep," the hacker laughs, and drops a kiss to his lover's collar bone. "I—I'll see you in the morning."_

_"Yeah?"_

_"…Yeah."_

_**-o-**_

_Eames wakes to an empty, cold bed as the sun slides innocently through the blinds to his left, illuminating the note on the pillow next to him._

Client needed me, _it says, _breakfast is in the lobby until 10:30.

_Eames sighs in frustration, shaking his head and trying to hold back the familiar stab of hurt. He had _known_ this would happen, after all. He has slept with Arthur more times than he can count, and never_ once_ woken up next to the man._

_He rolls out of bed and pads to the bathroom, dropping the note carelessly onto the bedcovers. He turns on the water, noting the beads of liquid that denote Arthur's shower earlier this morning. Water scalding, he knows, but the shower would only be about five minutes long._

_"Darling," Eames sighs sadly to no one, and then steps under the spray._

_When he is done, he towels off and dresses in the Armani he brought with him—black with gray pinstripes, light blue shirt, no tie—and makes for the door. As he passes the bed, he reaches down and picks up the note again, eyes tracing the precise curls of Arthur's handwriting to make sure he's gotten everything._

_And there, outlined against the light of the window, is a light scrawl on the back of the paper. Bemused, he flips it over to read it._

9:30, corner table.

_Checking the clock hurriedly, Eames grins; glad to see it reads 9:15. He tucks the note into his breast pocket and lifts his room key from the table by the door as he leaves, door clicking softly shut behind him._

_**-o-**_

_When he arrives, the corner table is on its side, covered with the blood of the half-eaten server currently draped over it. Eames's hand drops to the gun concealed on his belt, eyes scanning anxiously for Arthur._

_He finds him leaning, picturesque, against the window, backlit by the morning sunshine that filters past him and over the carnage. His white shirt is stained with red, splashes and drips all down his chest, and for a horrible moment Eames can only think that he's been shot, he's been shot, he's been—_

_But he's wiping at his mouth with the handkerchief Eames loaned him back in Venice, the one with the blue embroidered initials, the only one with the correct _J.E_._

_And Arthur's grace is more fluid than it's ever been before as he pushes himself off the glass and starts toward Eames, eyes dark and intent, like a predator. His hand is ice on Eames's cheek, and his dilated pupils suck all the light out of the room._

_He leans in, his clod, gray cheek brushing Eames's, stealing its warmth and color. The conman feels teeth at his neck, pressing a little too hard to be comfortable, as arms come up to wrap around him._

"Darling," _he hears, once, and then the teeth sink in._

**-o-**

Eames did not wake crying.

**-ooo-**

**9:50 am, Bonanza, Colorado**

"I see," Saito said, leaning back in his chair. "This changes many things."

"This house has become a prison," Fischer said. "You all should come to New York. At least they'll be zombies we can _kill_. We should create a diversion for Mal and Arthur, and then make it to the cars and back to Mark and the plane." He sighed. "I'd also like to look for a few of my friends on the East Coast. I came out here because I thought I could help. It's up to Yusuf now, so I'd like to get back to doing something…I don't know, useful."

"Mm," Yusuf hummed. "In spite of Mr. Saito's kind offer of his labs, I would actually prefer to stay. I don't want to risk moving the serum, and it would be beneficial for me to study these new behaviors. For example, it seems that Mal and Arthur are working together to catch food—_us_. Now, in previous experiences it seemed that the infected would just as easily attack each other as us if it meant getting food."

"They speak."

Yusuf turned to look at Eames, who had just opened his mouth for the first time in hours. The chemist's eyes crinkled in sympathy.

"That's really bothering you, isn't it?" he asked softly. "It really startled me. I didn't think they spoke anymore, either."

"It wasn't the fact that Arthur spoke that threw him," Cobb said. "It was what he _said._ Personally, it nearly killed me when Mal said my name. It just…"

"In some ways, I'd say they're regressing again," Yusuf said. "They're reverting back to more basic hunting instincts. Arthur called us before, and tried to lure us out. You saw how Arthur was trying to get Eames outside so Mal could get him. That's _clever,_ but it's not unusual in…wild animals. What's _interesting_ about this is not how they're hunting, but the fact that their hunting in groups. So far, zombies have all been individual hunters."

Ariadne listened from where she sat next to Fischer at the kitchen table, head in her hands. Everything was so _wrong_. This wasn't supposed to be life. This had only been happening for less than a month, and already almost everything she'd ever known was gone, twisted in horrible, incomprehensible ways. Her parents, her best friends, _Arthur_—they were all out there, somewhere, _eating other people_. Or dead, eaten, or shot in the head by someone just trying to survive.

"Are they still out there? Do we know?" Miles asked, having come in to listen while his wife cared for the children.

"We can never really be sure," Cobb confessed. "I mean, it was dark last night, but we never even saw Mal coming."

After a rather subdued moment of silence, Fischer shifted in his chair. "So, what's our plan? Are we going to stay here, or are we going to go back to New York?"

"I actually am in favor of going to New York," Nash said. "I agree with Fischer. It's better that we're able to protect ourselves. I mean, Yusuf doesn't even want us to _tranquilize_ them."

"I'm staying," Eames said, and there was no questioning it. "As long as Arthur's here, I'm not leaving."

"I want to stay with Uncle Arthur and _Maman_," came a small voice from the doorway. "Phil and I want to stay."

"Yeah," Phillipa agreed, stepping in front of James as if to hide him from their father's disapproval. "I don't want to leave. But—" for a moment, her eyes teared up, "you can go if you want, Dad. We can stay with Uncle Eames. Right?" Her gaze flickered over to Eames, a little hesitant, a little scared. But nonetheless she tried to give him a small smile.

"Of course," Eames said, slightly startled. "That is, if your father is really—"

"We're not going to split up," Cobb said. "Never. Either we all stay, or we all go to New York. You guys, me, and your grandparents, too." He glanced up, and the silent _unless you want to go_ was clear in his eyes to both Miles and Marie.

"Then it would appear that we're staying," Miles said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as James and Phillipa burst into excited 'thank yous'.

"Is that all right with you?" Eames asked Cobb under his breath. "I didn't mean to bias your family against you…"

"It's fine. I'd rather stay, anyway." He ran a hand through his hair. "Ariadne?"

"I—" She bit her lip. "I…"

"If you want to go with your boy, I can look after Arthur," Eames said gently, sympathetic of the torn expression on her face. "I won't let _anything_ happen to him. I'll even see if I can get him inside, locked in a room or something."

"Yeah, because that worked so well with the crazy wife," Nash muttered.

"Did I ask you, you muppet?" Eames snapped. "No one bloody wants to hear your opinion."

"Hey, calm down," Cobb interrupted before things could get too bad. "Let's just leave that where it is. Nash, you want to go to New York, right?"

The other man nodded.

"All right," Cobb continued, "so we have three for New York, and the rest are staying?"

"Four," Ariadne corrected softly. "Eames, you promise me this: that you will take care of Arthur, and call me at _once_ if anything changes. Please."

"Of course, pet. You stay safe." He narrowed his eyes when they fell on Fischer. "And _you_ had better take care of her."

Fischer bristled. "I will. Nothing will ever happen to her."

Eames nodded. "Good. So, when do you leave? You probably want to be out of here before dark."

"Yeah," Yusuf agreed. "The sun sets early here in Bonanza. Around 4:30."

"We should probably pack some supplies now, then," Saito said, rising from the table. "It is a four hour flight back to New York, with a two-hour time difference. It is not the wisest idea to land in the dark, either."

"It was a pleasure meeting both of you. You, too, Nash. Ariadne." Cobb held out his hand to each man in turn, and then to the young woman. She ignored it, favoring instead to wrap her arms around him in a tight hug.

"You'll get her back, Cobb. I know you will," she said. He patted her back in thanks, and she stepped back, only to catch Eames in her next hug. "Arthur will be fine. You'll see."

The Brit hugged her back, murmuring, "You take care, pet."

"I will." She tried valiantly to hold back her tears as the two kids rushed forward to give her goodbye hugs, their small arms circling around her as best they could, burying their faces in her shirt.

"Stay safe and come back soon, okay, Miss Ari?" Phillipa pleaded.

"Yeah, come back soon!" James echoed, tiny hands fisted in the hem of her blouse as he stared earnestly up at her.

"Kids…" Cobb began, but Ariadne was already nodding.

"As soon as I can, I promise," she said. "We'll see each other again."

"Okay," Phil consented, finally stepping back and pulling James along with her. "We'll miss you all. So you'd better come back and see us, okay? _Okay_, Mr. Fischer? Mr. Saito? Mr. Nash?"

"Okay, kids," Fischer agreed, a sad smile playing over his mouth. "As soon as we can."

"Yes, we will meet again soon," Saito agreed. "You can count on it."

All Nash said was goodbye, making no promises.


	12. The end is soon coming, O Sinner, beware

**Because it's been a while, here's a refresher from last chapter:**

_"It was a pleasure meeting both of you. You, too, Nash. Ariadne." Cobb held out his hand to each man in turn, and then to the young woman. She ignored it, favoring instead to wrap her arms around him in a tight hug._

_"You'll get her back, Cobb. I know you will," she said. He patted her back in thanks, and she stepped back, only to catch Eames in her next hug. "Arthur will be fine. You'll see."_

_The Brit hugged her back, murmuring, "You take care, pet."_

_"I will." She tried valiantly to hold back her tears as the two kids rushed forward to give her goodbye hugs, their small arms circling around her as best they could, burying their faces in her shirt._

_"Stay safe and come back soon, okay, Miss Ari?" Phillipa pleaded._

_"Yeah, come back soon!" James echoed, tiny hands fisted in the hem of her blouse as he stared earnestly up at her._

_"Kids…" Cobb began, but Ariadne was already nodding._

_"As soon as I can, I promise," she said. "We'll see each other again."_

_"Okay," Phil consented, finally stepping back and pulling James along with her. "We'll miss you all. So you'd better come back and see us, okay?_

"Okay_, Mr. Fischer? Mr. Saito? Mr. Nash?"_

_"Okay, kids," Fischer agreed, a sad smile playing over his mouth. "As soon as we can."_

_"Yes, we will meet again soon," Saito agreed. "You can count on it."_

_All Nash said was goodbye, making no promises._

**November 25, 2013: 10:26 am, Bonanza, Colorado**

"You're sure you have everything you need?" Cobb asked for the thousandth time, and Ariadne laughed.

"Yeah, Cobb, I'm sure we'll be fine. Eames has given us enough ammo to wage our own personal wars, and Yusuf gave us his super-preserved food, so we're all set."

Cobb sighed. "If you're sure…"

"We are," Fischer said, and Eames would be damned if he couldn't see a small smile playing at the corners of the businessman's mouth as well as Ariadne's. "Mark and his family have already called to tell us that they've made it to the plane. I think we're ready to go."

"I don't think you are, actually," Eames said, and beckoned Fischer over with the crook of one finger. "Please excuse us, pet," he intoned to Ariadne. "I promise to return him in one piece."

"Okay, whatever," she said with a grin, shooing her boyfriend away with a little wave and going to talk to the children and Miles and Marie again. "Play nice, boys."

Fischer sighed when Ariadne was out of earshot, adjusting the collar of his shirt and training his eyes on Eames. "So, what exactly was it that you wanted to talk about?"

"When you propose to Ari—"

Fischer made a kind of strangled noise and half-raised a paranoid arm to shush him. "How did you…"

"It was all over your face earlier, when we were talking about your lack of bridal shower experience. But on to my point: When you propose to Ariadne, and _if_ she says yes, than you had better make her deliriously happy for the rest of her life, or you will have me to deal with." He leaned in, backing Fischer into a corner, steel eyes narrowing. "Arthur, too, when he's feeling himself again. And most likely Cobb, and Yusuf, as well. Between the four of us, you will have to contend with the highest concentration of weapons and the knowledge of how to use them in the United States, and Yusuf's massive collection of slow, painful poisons. And there is nowhere you can hide. Do I make myself clear?"

Fischer swallowed, only once, and then nodded. "Perfectly."

Eames grinned and stepped back, eyes melting from gunmetal to relatively friendly winter skies. "Good." He held out his hand, and shook Fischer's. "Then I wish you the best of luck. She's got fire, that one. You'll have to work."

The corners of Fischer's mouth turned up softly at simply the thought of marrying Ariadne, and Eames was sure—somewhere deep down—that they would be happy. And that, more than anything, comforted him.

"You're free to go," Eames dismissed. "You and the rest of them have a plane to catch. I sincerely hope that you find your friends the way you want to. Good luck, with everything."

"You, too," Fischer returned, nodding to Eames before rejoining Ariadne, Saito, and Nash by the door. "Good luck to all of you."

"Time for the diversion, then," Eames said with a forced grin. "Don't worry; we'll make sure we have eyes on both Arthur and Mal before we tell you to go. Ready, Cobb?"

"As much as I'll ever be." He rechecked the magazine of his gun to make sure it was fully loaded, and Eames did the same, both knowing that even if worst came to worst, they would fire no shots. "Let's go."

Eames nodded and led the way out the back door. Almost immediately there was a flash of motion in the corner of his eyes. He signaled to Cobb, who swiftly acknowledged it and turned to cover the right. Eames swept the rest of the yard.

About 30 yards in front of him was Mal. She stood, partially concealed by a tree; dress mangled at the bottom and shoes nowhere to be found. A second later, Arthur materialized beside her, previously white shirt now a matted dark brown, jacket cuffs torn to reveal scraps of his shirt and the pale wrists below.

His eyes flicked from Eames to Cobb and back again, before he lowered himself down and began to creep around the fenced-in perimeter of the yard. Eames sighed, his heart aching, as he watched. But the signal had been given: he could not let Arthur out of the back yard.

"Watch your wife," he said lowly to Cobb, and stepped forward.

The eyes of both infected snapped to him immediately, and Arthur slipped back a step closer to Mal. Almost birdlike, he cocked his head to one side and then another, assessing the situation. And Eames felt his breath stop in his throat, because even so horrifically changed as the man was, Eames could still see Arthur in him.

Dimly, he could hear the sounds of the front door opening and closing, the patter of feet on the path on the other side of the house. By the way Arthur's eyes glanced past Eames and the way Mal's shoulders tensed, he could tell they heard it, too.

Arthur crouched to spring.

"Darling, please," Eames whispered, voice cracking. "Just stay there. I don't want to shoot you." Meaningfully, he raised the gun a little, and much to both his and Cobb's surprise, Arthur froze, and then slowly rose from his crouch.

Warily, he danced the few steps back to Mal and had one of their new silent conversations, before he cocked his head again and just looked at Eames. Mal's eyes kept stealing over to Cobb, and then to the edge of the house just past him.

"Arthur," Eames continued, voice a soothing murmur, "just—just stay there." For a moment, it seemed that Arthur would listen, that he and Mal would stay calmly where they were, recognizing, perhaps, Eames or his voice.

And then both of them sprang into motion.

Maybe they remembered enough to know which of the men was least likely to shoot either of them, or maybe it was just the path of least resistance, but Arthur ran for Eames, and Mal ran for Cobb.

Knowing that they must have to buy at least a few more seconds for their leaving companions, Cobb and Eames both fired shots into the ground, about a yard from the feet of their respective loved ones. Arthur leapt back, snarling, but Mal only paused. Then very deliberately, she took a step.

"Mal, don't make me," Cobb pleaded. "Just stay there."

She took another step.

Cobb raised his gun.

And it was then that Arthur moved. He ran, full tilt, towards the front of the house. Eames's heart stopped cold in his chest as he pivoted on his heel and shot three times.

Twice, at the legs. Once, at the back of the neck.

Arthur jerked and then stumbled, shattered knee giving out under his weight. It would heal soon, Eames knew, but that didn't make watching him fall any easier. It was an image that would never leave him.

And what was worse was the sound Arthur made.

Behind him, Mal was snarling and screeching, and he was pretty sure that Cobb had said _something,_ but Eames only heard Arthur's small gasp of…_pain_, just before he crumpled to the ground.

A sound Eames had heard him make only once before.

**-o-**

_**May 16, 2012: Dhaka, Bangladesh**_

_They are standing, crouched behind cover, and then all of a sudden Arthur is spinning back with the worst expression of surprise on his face. With one soft sound of pain, he stumbles the foot back off the edge of the roof._

_"Arthur! Are you all right? Answer me, dammit!" Eames fires another shot and then risks a glance down to the man below him, hanging by one hand from the ledge of the window._

_"I'm perfectly fine, Mr. Eames, no need to shout," says Arthur through gritted teeth, though Eames can clearly see the blood seeping into his jacket from his newly acquired bullet hole. It has always been a bad idea to get trapped on a roof, but getting shot _off_ of it now one-ups getting trapped in Eames's books._

_"I'll be there to help you in a tick, pet, if you'd just give me one—" He swears, and then ducks back behind his cover to avoid the spread of bullets from the other side of the rooftop._

_"Take your time. Don't get shot."_

_Eames realizes that he might have laughed at that, coming from Arthur, if the situation hadn't been so bad. Arthur has_ _been_ shot_, and is now hanging thirty-seven stories above the Dhaka business district by _one hand, _and it isn't even his dominant one. He himself is pinned down by at least five other men._

_He's pretty sure that they're screwed._

_"Well, darling, let me say this at least once: for all the trouble you get me into, I love working with you, and I always have," the conman says with a sincere grin, crouching to reload._

_Arthur scoffs, seemingly unconcerned, but Eames can see his fingers slipping. "I suppose it's been a pleasure," he teases back. "Though I'm quite sure this particular situation is _your _fault."_

_"Oh, and how is that?" Eames asks, trying to keep Arthur's attention off their impending doom._

_"Well, if you would just _listen _to me—ah." Arthur grits his teeth against a wave of pain from his right shoulder, eyes closing briefly. "If you would_ listen _to me once in a while, we never would have ended up on this rooftop because we'd already be _out of town."

_His hand slips a little further, and Eames moves to break his cover, to dive over and pull Arthur back up, but Arthur sees this and shakes his head._

_"Don't be stupid, James. Even pinned down, you can take these men. With _cover. _Don't break it now and die on me. I'll get out of this myself."_

_And Eames doesn't have the heart to ask Arthur how he plans to do that._

_He sighs, once, and then smiles up at Eames. "I'm kidding, James. I want you to know that. If I—if my plan doesn't work, if I'm only trusting to crazy hope, then I want you to know that I don't blame you for any of this. I could have left, but I wanted…I wanted to stay with you."_

_"Arthur, what're you—"_

_And then Arthur lets go of the ledge._

**-o-**

Eames lowered his gun and realized that he could still hear Cobb talking. Saying something like, "My God, I can't believe I just shot my own wife."

Eames, thrown, blinked and turned around to find Cobb lowering his own gun, with Mal unconscious on the ground about four feet from the edge of the house

"It's all right, Cobb. Let's just get them inside, okay?"

Arthur was already stirring it seemed, but that could have been Eames's imagination. He didn't want to take any chances, though, and jogged over to the fallen infected. After a moment's hesitation, he removed his belt and stuck it into Arthur's mouth, cinching it tightly behind his head. Even though Arthur was unconscious, having hit his head on a rock when he fell, Eames was taking no chances.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," he murmured to the infected man. "Don't worry, though. Yusuf will have you back to rights, soon." Behind him, Cobb had done the same to Mal, and was now looking over at Eames, silently asking, _what now._

"Now we should bring them inside, I think," Eames said, though he was a bit unsure. They hadn't planned on capturing the two so soon, so none of the rooms were particularly outfitted for this kind of thing. "After all, we may never get another chance. We'll just have to tie them up securely, and separate them. We can figure something more permanent out later. Maybe Yusuf can take some blood and analyze it to make safe sedatives or something."

Cobb nodded, confidence returning as he picked up Mal bridal style. He nudged the door open with his foot and stepped in, followed by Eames and the limp Arthur.

"Yusuf!" Cobb called when they were in the kitchen. The chemist quickly stuck his head in, only to pale at what he saw.

"You—you got them! That's…good, I suppose. I guess we need somewhere to put them, yes?"

"It would be appreciated," Eames said, feeling Arthur twitch a little in his arms. "Preferably soon."

"Ah—yes. Please, this way." Yusuf led them down the hallway to two unoccupied bedrooms. The infected were laid down on the beds, and their wrists were bound to the bedposts with reinforced rope.

"Hopefully, that will hold," Eames said, because he couldn't imagine what would happen if it didn't.

"It should," Yusuf said, but he didn't sound very confident. "What are we going to feed them? Hamburger? I have some more frozen…"

"It's the best option. They'll eat it if they get hungry enough," Eames said, sounding confident because it was easy to fake. "I think the best thing for us to do now is tell the others. I need to call Ariadne, even though the poor girl just left."

He sighed and cast a glance back at Arthur over his shoulder before he closed the door, taking in the blood, the small shivers that wracked his frame as he struggled to consciousness, and he decided that it was a good thing that Ariadne had left.

She didn't need to remember Arthur like that.

"So, shall we?" he asked, breaking the silence and gesturing down the hallway after checking both the locks on the doors. The other two men nodded, and they walked silently back the way they had come, hearts heavy.

**-ooo-**

**8:30 pm, Bonanza, Colorado**

Phillipa looked over at her father from where she stood by the window, watching the shadows of the trees dance in the wind. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and said, "I'm glad we got _Maman_ and Uncle Arthur inside. It's too cold outside for them!"

"Me, too," Cobb sighed, trying not to hear the muffled thumps as one or both of the infected fought their bonds in the back bedrooms. "They'll be all right, soon." _Hopefully_, his mind continued silently.

Phillipa smiled.

"Can I be the flower girl at Uncle Arthur and Uncle Eames's wedding?"

"Huh?" Cobb said, momentarily surprised. "Well, I'm sure they would love to have you." Even though there probably wouldn't be an actual _wedding_…But it warmed his heart to see her smile brighten even further.

"Oh, but should I ask Uncle Eames when he wakes up, just in case?"

Cobb glanced over his shoulder down the hallway, to where Eames was sleeping in the bedroom next to Arthur's. He said it was so he could monitor what was happening, but Cobb was sure that that wasn't the only reason. He turned back to Phillipa and said, "Maybe you should wait a little while, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed, with a child's deep understanding. "Can…can I go read a story to James? You say I should read more, so…" She shuffled her feet bashfully.

"Of course you can. I think he brought _Puddle Pail_ with him." He watched her grin and bounce off down the other hallway, towards the stairs, and then stood to follow her. When she reached the bedroom she was sharing with her brother, she grabbed the book off the side table and climbed up onto his bed.

"James, come here."

Her brother blinked sleepily, but crawled over anyway. Phillipa pulled him between her legs and snuggled him against her chest, putting her chin on his head and opening the book.

Cobb felt his mouth twitch up at the corners as he moved aside to make room for Miles and Marie in the doorway.

"Well don't stay over there!" Phillipa said. "Come sit!"

The adults did so, settling on the bed next to the two children as Phillipa began to read.

"'One bright morning after a storm, Ernst, a young blue crocodile and his big green brother, Sol, set off for the beach. They skipped through the wet grass and stamped through the mud, drumming on their shiny pails.

"''I'm going to fill my pail with shells,' said Sol, who loved to collect things.

"''I'm going to fill my pail with sand and build a— ''"

_"Dom!"_

Everyone froze, silence ringing in the echo of Mal's shriek. Cobb was up and off the bed in mere seconds, disappearing out the door after shouting for Miles and Marie to keep the children upstairs.

He met Yusuf at the top of the basement stairs.

"What's going on?" the chemist demanded, but Cobb didn't have an answer for him. Instead, they both headed towards the source of the noise: Mal's room.

Eames was outside the door when they arrived.

"I don't think it's anything serious," the conman said when they appeared beside him. "I think she's only just woken up. Arthur's been up for a while, but all he does is struggle."

He was rumpled, but there were bags under his eyes that suggested that he hadn't been sleeping like he told Cobb he was going to. He looked, in fact, like he hadn't gotten a good night's rest for a month, and Cobb supposed that was probably the case.

"Eames—"

"Don't, Cobb," Eames sighed, shaking his head. "I can't sleep. It's pointless."

"Maybe you shouldn't sleep in the room next to Arthur's," Yusuf suggested gently. "There are other rooms."

"I want to stay close to him," was all the answer Eames had to give.

"Dom!"

"We'd best go in to see what she wants. Maybe she's…hungry," Yusuf said with trepidation.

"It won't hurt to check," Cobb sighed. "Let's go."

The door swung in silently, revealing Mal on the bed, glaring imperiously up at them. The blankets, which Cobb had drawn up over her, were kicked down by her ankles. When she saw them, she bared her teeth and pulled at the ropes binding her wrists.

"Dom," she said again, and this time Eames could have sworn it sounded accusatory.

"I'm so sorry, Mal, but it's for your own good." Cobb rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Are you hungry?"

She just growled at him.

"We'll bring her in some food, anyway," Yusuf assured. "But, uh, are we going to feed her or what? I don't think we can risk untying her."

"Leave it to me," Cobb said. "She's my wife. I'll be right back," he promised her, but she was no longer paying attention. Instead, she had shifted so her ear was angled toward the wall of Arthur's room.

"What do you think she hears?" Cobb asked Eames, who just shook his head.

"I don't know. But I'm going to get some food for Arthur." The conman turned and left the room, and Cobb and Yusuf listened to his footsteps fade down the hallway before turning to each other.

"This is killing him," Yusuf said softly. "I wish I could work faster, but the serum is maturing right now. There's nothing I can do for at _least_ another week."

"He's knows you're doing all you can," Cobb comforted, "but you're right. I don't know how much longer he's going to be able to cope with this. He's always loved Arthur, from the moment they met. I should know. I was there."

"I don't think being this close to the damage is good for him. I think—I think we should have made him go to New York."

Cobb laughed mirthlessly. "How? Drug him? He'd never leave otherwise. And he'd just threaten Saito and Fischer to bring him back the moment he woke up."

"Who would?" Eames asked, returning with two plates of hamburger and two long-handled spoons. "Nash?" But of course, he knew they'd been talking about him. "Oh, definitely. Nash is feisty, and doesn't like to be crossed. Very unpredictable when angry."

He handed one of the plates and one of the spoons to Cobb with a tight and warning smile, and then disappeared into Arthur's room.

"Guess it's good that we didn't then," Yusuf said, somewhat abashed to have been caught so obviously talking behind Eames's back.

"Yeah," Cobb agreed. "I can only imagine what _Nash_ would have done when he got back."

Then he sighed and went in to feed his wife.

**-oooxooo-**

**November 26, 2013**

The first full day that Arthur and Mal were in the house seemed far too normal.

There was no screaming.

There were no ropes snapped, no attempts made at escape.

Just a sort of unnerving stillness.

**-oooxooo-**

**November 27, 2013**

That night it poured.

Eames watched through the window as the heavens opened and cried for the world that could be seen below. The trees whipped in the wind, and the few leaves that still clung pitifully to the branches were torn away, only to be beaten down to the ground under the constant downpour.

He was restless.

"There are more out there, you know," he said to Cobb, tilting his head slightly to throw his words around the room until they reached the silent man behind him, eyes never leaving the drowning world beyond the glass. "Coming down from the mountains. I can see them moving, sometimes. Sometimes they stop and stare at the house, just _looking_ at us. I'm not sure how much longer we're going to be safe here."

Cobb angled his head to see past the glare of the lamps and watched the dark shapes drift past like so many unanchored ships, dancing and lurching on broken ankles and legs and knees that hadn't yet had the chance to heal. His hand tightened a little on the arm of his chair, nervous. The thought of being attacked had crossed his mind, too, but he hadn't allowed himself to dwell on it. For his children's sake, and his wife's, he had to believe everything would be okay, that their current problems would be fixed before any new ones arose.

Eames stood up.

"Where are you going?" Cobb asked, voice tense, but low so as to not wake the children sleeping on the couch, warm and safe under their blanket of gentle ignorance.

"To open the shades in Arthur's room. He hasn't said a word, or made even a sound since we brought him in. He hasn't even _moved,_ really. But he always loved the rain."

**-oooxooo-**

**November 28, 2013**

They say that the sun always shines clearer after a storm. But if that was true, Eames didn't notice.

Arthur had not yet said anything.

Yusuf worked day and night, checking the chemical levels, drawing blood, analyzing this and that…but it was never enough. Not when, after only seventeen days of being infected, Eames had Arthur so close. So close, and looking so _human_.

His eyes watched Eames coldly whenever he came in, as if he was expecting something…_distasteful_, but many times Eames had only come to sit in the chair by his bed, or to lean against the wall and watch him, heartbroken.

Eventually, Arthur stopped even looking up.

**-oooxooo-**

**November 30, 2013**

"You know, Arthur, I think Fischer's probably going to propose to Ariadne soon. You should have seen the look on his face when I brought it up."

The skin was cool beneath his touch, Arthur's hands still long and slim and smooth even after their stint in the wilderness and the harsh cold.

"Of course, we're going to make him jump through hoops before he even gets _close_ to tying the knot." Eames rubbed his thumb in slow, soothing circles over the skin of Arthur's wrist; over the bite that was still faintly lighter then the rest of his deathly pale skin. "Aren't we, darling?"

Nothing.

**-oooxooo-**

**December 2, 2013**

"He's getting worse."

Yusuf glanced up from his microscope, alarmed. "Arthur? Has he stopped eating?" The chemist moved to step back away from the table, practically for the first time in a week. He had almost never left his lab, except sometimes to eat. He even slept down there, in case he woke in the night with a few moments to devote to the cure.

"No," Cobb sighed, shaking his head and descending the last few stairs into Yusuf's basement lab. "It's Eames. I…I think he's driving himself mad."

Yusuf straightened a little further and pulled his glasses off his head to run a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I'd noticed a little of that, too. We need to get him out of Arthur's room."

"Easier said than done," the thief grumbled, sinking into one of the chairs by the table. "He'd sleep in there, if we'd let him. He's hardly ever left in the past three days." Cobb rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. "He talks to Arthur, all the time. Like he's still…_Arthur_. I didn't think it was bad, at first, but it's chipping away at his defenses. Seeing Arthur like this, I mean."

"…Does Arthur talk back?" Yusuf asked, always studying. Cobb shook his head and leaned back in the chair.

"No. Mal screams and yells, sometimes. Or glares at me in silent rage. But Arthur…Arthur doesn't do _anything_. Hasn't said a word, barely moves except to eat and go to the bathroom, and then…nothing. Hell, he doesn't even _look_ at Eames anymore. And Eames is going crazy with grief."

Yusuf slid his glasses on and leaned against the edge of the table, eyes downcast with the weight of his sorrow. "I can only imagine what it's like for him. It must be horrible. I…I've never let anyone get that close to me. Never. So to see him go through something like this…"

"It's not easy," Cobb agreed, eyes slipping momentarily shut in pain. "I've managed, because I have the kids, and Miles and Marie. And I try not to spend too much time with her. But Eames doesn't have anything but Arthur. As far as I know, he hasn't had anything _but_ Arthur for the last few years."

"We'll think of something."


	13. Repent or you'll miss Heaven so fair

**December 3, 2013**

_"Cobb!"_

Eames stormed into the living room, barely avoiding James with a mumbled, "Sorry," before his glare fixed on the other man. "You and I need to have words, apparently."

Phillipa gently tugged her brother into the other room.

"Yes, what is it, Eames?" Cobb asked, looking up from the couch to regard the incensed conman warily.

"You know _very well_ what it is, Cobb," Eames spat. "Arthur's _door_ is _locked._" The actual lock itself wasn't that much of a problem. Eames could pick almost any kind of lock in the world, and given an hour or so, anything new that you threw at him. But just the fact that Cobb had had the _nerve_ to _lock Arthur's door—_

"Eames, I did it for your own good."

"Don't give me that," Eames snapped. "My own good? I'm a grown man. I can look after myself! I don't need you to baby-sit me, like I'm one of your kids."

"Listen to me—I'm not trying to baby-sit. I just think it might be better for you to spend a little time away from Arthur. You're just torturing yourself!"

But Eames was no longer listening. Instead he was heading down the hall to his room for his lockpicking kit, leaving Cobb behind.

Cobb gritted his teeth and slammed his hand down on the coffee table, rising. "Dammit Eames, I said _listen!_ I _know_ how much Arthur means to you—I _do!_ But this isn't helping anything! He's not even _hearing_ you! Do you understand that?"

Eames spun on his heel and stalked back to Cobb, expression so dark that for a horrible second, Cobb thought he'd pushed it too far, that Eames was going to shoot him.

"No, Dominic Cobb, _you_ listen to _me_." Even though he stood at least two feet away, Eames's anger was almost smothering Cobb. "How do you _know_ he isn't hearing me? How do you _know_ it's not helping? Mal still fights you; I know she does. But Arthur doesn't do _anything. Nothing,_ Cobb, do you hear me? I talk to him because—"

For one horrible second, his voice broke.

"Because I need to know he's still in there."

Cobb sighed, sadly. "Eames…"

"No. Cobb, just listen. I need to know that when Yusuf makes the cure, I'll have something to bring back. Some_one_. I need to keep things as normal as I can, because what happens if he gets cured and the amnesiac doesn't work? Or, being as smart as he is, Arthur _figures out what happened._ Cobb, what am I supposed to do if he asks me to—to shoot him? What am I supposed to say?"

His eyes were lost when they met Cobb's.

"What am I supposed to _say?_" he asked again. _"No?_ Do I make him live with the memories of _eating_ someone else? Or the knowledge that he _did?_ Face it, Cobb. There's nothing in the world strong enough to block this past month from anyone's head. It'd be all over the news, anyway, once things clear up. Once the world's back together again."

And Cobb wished there was something he could say. Anything. But hell, wasn't Eames right? The same went for Mal, didn't it? How could this—how could anything possibly get better?

"Are we being selfish?"

Both men froze. They looked over, startled, to find James standing in the doorway with his hands fisted nervously in the hem of his shirt. His eyes were directed toward the ground, but even so Cobb and Eames could see them shining with unshed tears.

"James," Cobb began, but Phillipa cut him off by dashing into the room.

"I'm sorry, Dad! Sorry! I tried to keep him away—James, why don't you ever _listen?_—but I should have watched him better. I'm sorry, Uncle Eames!"

"No, no," said Eames, taking a step towards James. "What did you _say?_"

"_Maman_ always says it's selfish to want things for yourself when other people don't want them too," the little boy said. "I—I promise I wasn't listening or anything, since Phil said I shouldn't, but—but—" James bit his lip. "But you said you were worried about Uncle Arthur, right?"

Eames glanced over at Cobb, his face indifferent, but his eyes shining with conflict.

"I—yes. I'm very worried about Uncle Arthur," Eames admitted, wondering _exactly_ how much James had heard. He hoped he'd missed the part about the shooting—

"Because you think Uncle Arthur might be sad when he's better?"

"Yeah, that's what he said," Phillipa confirmed after Eames's long silence.

"So, isn't it selfish to want him back?" James's earnest eyes peered up at Eames. Then, suddenly, they filled with tears. "_Maman_ always says that it's bad to be selfish. But I want _her_ back, too!"

Then Phillipa was crying as well.

"Oh kids," Cobb said. "Come here. Come here." He held out his arms to them, and they ran to him, burying tear-streaked faces into his shirt, loud sobs muffled. From the doorway, Miles and Marie watched with sad eyes, hands clasped.

Eames took a step back from the mess he felt he'd caused, fighting off the tightness of his throat and the stinging of his eyes.

He turned and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Cobb asked, fighting the flash of déjà vu that came with seeing Eames stop, hand on the doorknob.

"Out," the conman said, like before. "I can't stay here anymore. Not right now. I—I need air, or something. I need to _shoot something_. But I bloody well can't. The only things to shoot for miles are the infected and what's the _goddamn point_ of making a cure if there's no one around to need it?"

It was easier to let his despair melt into anger.

"I have my mobile. Let me know if anything changes."

He left Cobb there, with his children still sniffling quietly and his in-laws silently watching, closing the door firmly.

**-oooxooo-**

They gathered.

Slowly, they came from all around. Maybe it was the lights that drew them, slipping out from under the gaps in the curtains or between the cracks of the shutters, or maybe it was the warmth of the hope that flickered tentatively just inside the door. Maybe it was the smell of blood, the wounded hearts that beat within the walls and lashed out at each other due to fear and desperation. Maybe it was the knowledge that two of their own were inside.

Whatever it was, it drew them nearer and nearer.

They prowled just beyond the glow of the door, when it opened. They crouched in the shadows of the hedges, in the dark of the uncertain gazes that penetrated the deep of the night from behind the glass, tired and jittery while the rest of the house slept. What was more, they circled through heads and hearts and dreams, lurking behind closed eyelids like the faintest whisper of smoke from the last cigarette in the pack, the one that leaves behind nothing but a bitter mouth and the dull anxiety of, _This is it._ They lingered like an unpleasant odor, a bad aftertaste, the slight chill from the nightmare that isn't _quite_ remembered in the small hours of the morning before the sun has broken from the hill.

Wrapped up in a blanket of unstable safety, the walls and doors and windows worked to keep everything at bay. For now, they held back the physical but were unable to block the sighs of the imagination from growing and betraying those whose fingers twitched and shoulders tensed at every sound from beyond the shelter of the house. No one left anymore, no one dared to venture out alone beyond the fence. It had been all right to do so before, but no longer.

Because just outside the doors, they gathered.

Just outside the doors, they _waited._

**-oooxooo-**

**December 7, 2013**

"Good morning, Arthur," he said, settling into the chair like he always did. "I'm sorry I'm late today. I had a bit of a tiff with Cobb again. He doesn't want me to see you anymore."

Arthur didn't respond, lying quietly on the bed with his face turned away from Eames disinterestedly.

"This isn't the first time, either. I just—You _are_ listening to me, aren't you, love?"

Finally, he had broken.

"Can you hear me?"

**-o-**

_**May 16, 2012: Dhaka, Bangladesh**_

_"Arthur! For the love of God,_ can you hear me?"

_Eames flings himself to the edge of the roof, no longer caring about cover, no longer caring about anything but Arthur._

_Arthur, the stupid bastard who has just let go of the window ledge to fall thirty-seven stories to his death._

_Arthur, the stupid bastard who is about six stories down, hanging onto a banner attached to the side of the building that proclaims: "Grand reopening!" in cheerfully colored Bengali._

_"I can hear you!" Arthur shouts back, but all Eames gets in reply is the motion of his mouth, as the hacker's words are snatched away by the wind._

_"You're crazy! What the hell are you going to do now?" Eames demands, even though he knows it is very likely that Arthur has no idea what he is saying. Then, a sudden shower of bullets forces him to roll back against the outcropping that makes up his cover and he loses sight of Arthur._

_A minute or two later, when he looks back, Arthur is no longer there._

_"Fuck, fuck, Jesus fucking Christ." His eyes search vainly for Arthur's falling body, waiting for the inevitable impact with the street below. But if there is an impact, he never sees it. Because he can't see Arthur._

_He makes it back to his cover just in time to avoid another volley of bullets._

_He reloads his gun and manages to shoot two of the men, all the time worrying about Arthur. Arthur, who is no longer where Eames left him. Arthur, who is now dead._

_Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a flash of motion; one of the final three men on the rooftop with him has leveled his gun at Eames. There isn't enough time for him to get out of the way. But he doesn't need to._

_A second later, the man jerks in a way quite consistent with sudden blunt-force trauma, knees collapsing to reveal Arthur standing behind him. He has removed his tie and wound it around his shoulder, making an impromptu bandage for his still-bleeding wound. His other hand is holding his Glock, raised above the enemy's head._

_"Darling," he hears himself breathe—once, in relief—and then he turns his focus back to the remaining two men. They are confused from Arthur's sudden appearance, sure they've killed him already, and in a matter of minutes, Eames takes them down._

_When he is sure it's just the two of them left, Eames rises and almost runs over to Arthur._

_"Don't you _ever _do something stupid like that again," Eames hisses, before pulling Arthur close and laying his cheek against the side of the hacker's head. "You nearly scared me to death._ Never again."

_And Arthur laughs and ducks his head to kiss Eames's neck. "I'm sorry. I saw an opportunity and I took it. There was an open window. I can't promise that I won't do anything that stupid ever again, but I'll give it my best shot if you promise to stop being such a _worrywart._"_

_"Such a—" Eames begins, flabbergasted. He opens and closes his mouth a few times without making a sound, and apparently it's _hilarious_ because Arthur simply _cannot stop laughing._ "…Darling," Eames says, cautiously, I think you lost your brain somewhere in the fall, hmm? You going to make it?" He's only teasing, really, but he runs his hands lightly over Arthur, just to make sure._

_Arthur nods, gasping, and swipes the back of his hand across his eyes to wipe away the tears. "I'm…fine. Just a little shaken, that's all. I'll be fine in a minute." He lets out another incredulous breath of laughter. "_Fuck_, I can't believe that actually _worked_."_

_"You want me to stop worrying about you, yet you go and say things like that when I can still hear you," Eames mutters to himself. He wraps an arm around Arthur's neck and pulls him into a brief hug. "You nutter. Now, let's get you patched up, all right? I know someone a few streets over who owes me a favor."_

**-o-**

"I love you, Arthur," Eames sighed, letting his hand slip from the infected's. He stood, wondering for the first time if maybe Cobb was right. Maybe all of this was pointless. Maybe everything now was just a waiting game until the infected broke in, until they ran out of food, until it no longer _mattered_ if there was a cure or not because there would be no one to left to _administer_ it.

The doorknob was cold in his hand as he turned it, heavy like the thoughts that distracted his attention.

"Darling."

Eames froze, halfway out the door. "What?" he whispered, turning around to face the man on the bed. He met Arthur's eyes for the first time in the twelve days they had been in the same house. "What did you say?"

"Darling," the infected repeated. He twisted a little against his bonds and made a displeased face before settling down again.

"Oh, Arthur," Eames breathed, wishing he could lay his hand on the other man's cheek. Instead, he walked back to the bed and took Arthur's hand again. "I won't go, if you don't want me to."

This time Arthur said nothing, only wiggling his hands around so he could wrap his fingers around Eames's.

Eames stayed there all night.

**-oooxooo-**

**December 11, 2013**

"I have good news," Yusuf said from the doorway, addressing everyone seated at the kitchen table. "The vaccine is finished. It just needs to be tested on one of the living infected."

"That's fantastic," Cobb laughed, eyes lighting up. "Did you hear that, kids?"

"Yay! Uncle Arthur and _Maman_ will be better again soon!"

Eames just smiled and sipped his coffee from where he leaned against the counter, all his thoughts on Arthur, and muttered, "About time."

**-oooxooo-**

They closed in.

Every now and again, there was a flash of motion out of the corner of an eye, the uncanny shiver-inducing feeling of an unblinking gaze on the back of a neck, the quiet hiss of breath on the windows leaving circles of fear behind. They crept into the silent spaces in the chill of the air, seeping into bones and staying there. They left footprints in the mulch in the flowerbeds just inside the fence, misshapen from missing toes or crushed arches, smeared wet with blood.

Every day they moved closer.

Every day they _waited._

**-oooxooo-**

**December 28, 2013**

_"Hello?"_

"Ari, pet, it's Eames. I have fantastic news. All of Yusuf's tests so far have gone smoothly, and we should be able to give Arthur the vaccine in a day or two."

_"That's—that's wonderful! Oh my God!"_

Eames could almost _hear_ her ridiculously large grin and felt an answering smile stretch across his face. It dimmed as he gently nudged the curtain open, a thin sliver of light snaking across the yard into the never-ending wasteland of the world. Sometimes he would catch glimpses of them, the infected, sneaking just beyond the reflection of his anxious eyes, every day slipping closer than before.

He tried to keep his voice light. "The good thing is that Mal's settled down. She's stopped staring at Cobb like she's going to eat him, though from what I can tell, the look was pretty standard since their wedding day." He paused as Ariadne laughed, letting the curtain fall shut and trying to allow the sound lift some of the weight off his shoulders. "And Arthur spoke, for the first time since you left."

_"I'm so glad. This is fantastic. I'll tell Rob, and he'll get Saito, and we'll come pick up some of the vaccine. How much has Yusuf made? Or, alternatively he could give us the formula for Saito's labs to start re-creating. It's a bit too long for a text message, though. Having no internet is a major inconvenience."_ There was still an underlying current of excitement in her voice. "_So we'll come to you, okay? Right away!" _She almost hung up then, her voice getting softer as she pulled her phone away before she'd even finished speaking.

"Ariadne, I'm not sure if you coming back is the best idea," Eames began quickly, hoping he hadn't missed her. "Wait…you, Fischer, and Saito? Where's Nash? And Mark? Aren't they there with you?"

It was so silent on the other end of the line that Eames was _sure_ he'd missed her, that Ariadne had already hung up. But then she sighed, a small, soft sound that spoke of a world of sadness.

_"No. Nash left us about four days ago. He said he couldn't handle it anymore, and just ran off. I'm not sure where he went, or if he's even still alive. I'm sorry."_ She sighed. _"I should have tried harder to stop him."_

"It's not your fault. Nash has always been a bit of a pill; since even before _I_ knew him, if Arthur's file is anything to go by," Eames said. "I'm sure we'll find him, well and intact, after everything's settled down." In truth, Eames couldn't have cared less what had happened to Nash. He just didn't think it was fair to let Ariadne carry the guilt for the choices of the living as well as her pain and sorrow for the dead.

_"You really think so? That's a relief. You have no idea how glad I am to hear that."_

"I really think so," he lied. "But what about Mark? Did he leave as well?"

Ariadne sounded less upset, which Eames took as a good sign. _"No, he's still with us. He and his family met up with one of their paranoid relatives and found a bunker to hide in. Super-safe, too. He had his wife and kids stay there for protection while he came with us. Rob_ almost_ made the mistake of asking them if I could stay too, but then wised up and shut his mouth."_

"I'll just bet he did," Eames muttered, teasing her good-naturedly. He tensed as a branch snapped outside, his nerves on edge and his fingers flicking the curtain back open to try and find the source of the noise.

Down the hall, Mal laughed.

"Listen, Ariadne," he said a little urgently as the voices of Phillipa and James drew nearer, echoing down from the second floor as they raced each other for the honor of talking to Ariadne first. "We can find some way to send the formula to you. It would be a very unwise decision to come back here. The infected have started to gather around the house, and I'm quite honestly begging you to make sure that _if you come,_ you get here before the sun sets. I don't know how many are out there, but the number gets larger every day."

_"You've seen them outside?"_ Ariadne gasped, worried. _"Have the _kids?_ What are you going to do?"_

Eames lowered his voice and moved into the kitchen, trying to stall for as long as possible before James and Phillipa would be able to hear him. "No, I don't think the kids have seen them yet. We try to keep them away from the windows, quite honestly. But they can feel it. We're all antsy as hell, and the kids are _noticing_. We can only smile and tell them things are all right for so long."

He sighed.

"The thing is, Ari, we _haven't_ seen any zombies. Only glimpses now and again, movement here and there when we're not paying attention. We have _no idea_ how many are out there, and consequently _no fucking idea_ what we're going to do. We can't leave, it's too dangerous. But we can't stay here, either."

_"Don't worry,"_ Ariadne said, her voice thick with conviction and just a little bit of hope on the borderline of desperation, _"we're coming to get you, whether you think it's a bad idea or not. If we can just get you back to New York, we can get to the bunker and everyone will be safe. Mark's already told us that he's not going to leave anyone behind, and that there's no way we're leaving him out of this 'adventure.' Just stay safe. We'll be there soon, and everything will be okay."_

Eames was about to say something, something about how now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure it was a good idea for them to come at all, but just then James and Phillipa tore into the kitchen screaming, "Found him! Found him!" and "_I_ won! _I_ get to talk to Miss Ari first!"

Plastering a smile on his face that Phillipa eyed suspiciously, Eames forced a chuckle and said, "I'm going to hand you off you the kids now, since they want to talk to you. After that, confirm your visit with Cobb, okay?"

_"Eames, everything will be okay,"_ Ariadne insisted once more, before sighing. _"All right. Hey, say hi to Arthur for me, won't you? Tell him I'll see him soon."_

"I can do that," he said noncommittally, eyes narrowing as a shadow flashed through the dim square of light on the floor.

**-oooxooo-**

**December 30, 2013: 4:10 pm, Bonanza, Colorado**

The sound of the car pulling up outside had everyone in a flurry of motion. Eames took the window by the door, Yusuf watched from the dining room, and Cobb and Miles stood guard from the windows upstairs. Everyone's guns were trained on the driveway, ready to shoot anything that appeared even slightly hostile.

Ariadne was the first through the door, her head ducked slightly in fear until she was safe inside. Next came Saito, Mark, and then Fischer, all looking a bit more worn, a bit more tired, but still very much alive. Ariadne opened her arms to receive James and Phillipa, and they nearly bowled her over in their joy that she was still _okay_.

For the first time in a long time, everything seemed a little brighter.

"How was the drive?" Cobb questioned casually, his eyes tracking Ariadne and the kids' process into the living room, and only relaxing once they were out of sight. "Run into any…trouble?"

Fischer shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing at _all_. To tell the truth, _that_ is what worries me. There's proof all around that there are still zombies here—hell, you have their footprints in your garden!—but we didn't see a _single one_ on the way here."

"Well that's just _lovely_," Eames muttered. "Fantastic. Can we get the hell out of here, now?"

"Once Arthur and Mal have been cured, we will," Cobb assured. "Tomorrow morning. We'll pack tonight and get everything ready for tomorrow's escape. Okay?"

Eames sighed, frustrated. "Fine. On we go, then, assuming we're still around tomorrow."

"Eames—" Cobb said warningly, but Eames was already shaking his head.

"Apologies. I'm just…a little tense, I suppose you could say. There are so many ways that things could go _spectacularly_ wrong, and in every case I'd be powerless to do anything. So, _sorry_ if I'm a little tetchy."

"How about some tea, then, hmm?" Yusuf asked, appearing from the kitchen with a tray of mugs. He motioned for everyone to move into the den to sit. "So, I hate to ask, but…how did the search go?" He began handing out the tea, the lingeringly homey feeling of the action starting to ward off the clinging chill of the December day.

Gratefully, Fischer accepted his and sipped it before answering. "A lot better than I'd hoped, actually. All but two of the people I wanted to find were alive. _Healthy_. They're sticking together, holed up safely in Massachusetts."

"I'm glad," Cobb said, sincerely.

"Well, _I'm_ glad to hear that all of this will be ending soon," Mark announced, his smile unshakable. "The cure's done? Really finished?"

"Yes, as much as it will ever be," Yusuf said, with a kind of unsure shrug. "All of my tests have yielded positive results." He sighed. "The zombie I tested it on showed no adverse reaction to it, though he…well, he died from injuries that he had sustained prior to being vaccinated. However, both Arthur and Mal are completely healthy, so they _should_ have no problems."

And though Eames's hands tightened around the beer Yusuf had brought him, Saito raised his mug and said, "Well, that's the best we can hope for. A toast, then. To Yusuf and the future."

"Here, here," Eames said, grinning with more confidence then he felt. "To the future."

**-oooxooo-**

**December 31, 2013: 7:11 am, Bonanza, Colorado**

The dawn found Eames awake and already in Arthur's room, sitting by the bed and running his fingers lightly over Arthur's hands, whispering things quietly to him while Arthur just watched, watched and said nothing.

"Yusuf's finished the cure, darling. Today is the day: you're going to be better soon. And then you're going to have to deal with Ariadne throwing you a bridal shower. I can't wait to see what she comes up with. But what do women usually do at bridal showers?"

Arthur said nothing, seeming content to just look at Eames through half-lidded, sleepy eyes.

"Oh, love," Eames sighed, his hand dropping from Arthur's. "This has to work. It just has to. I'm a wreck without you."

"Darling," Arthur said, as if he agreed.

**-ooo-**

**10:00 am, Bonanza, Colorado**

Cobb came in with a plate of toast for Eames and some water for Arthur.

"Yusuf says we shouldn't give them anything to eat before they take the vaccine. He doesn't know how well their repaired body chemistry will take raw meat."

"Well, I'm not complaining," Eames said, taking the toast with a distracted smile, eating a few bites just to keep his mouth busy, to keep him from saying things like _Should we really do this?_ and _What if something goes wrong?_ and _I'm afraid._ He couldn't say any of these things. He didn't have to. He saw them reflected in Cobb's eyes when he looked up, the dim light of the sun through the curtains casting long shadows across their faces.

Instead, Eames said, "How's Mal?"

"She's fine," Cobb replied. "She's settled down, though, like she knows something's going to happen."

"I see."

There was silence for a long time, broken only by the small sounds of Arthur shifting against the bindings. He had lost interest in the conversation, it seemed, when Cobb had entered the room.

Suddenly, he flinched away and _growled_, and Cobb stumbled back a step in surprise.

"What?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

Eames was already shaking his head. "No, you just got too close. He's very particular about personal space." He tried to make it light, but it fell flat and was swallowed up in the stifling anxiety that permeated the room.

"You should come out to the kitchen and sit with everyone," Cobb said. "Come on. It's better than being in here. There's nothing more you can do."

"If it's all the same, I think I'd rather stay," Eames quietly argued, but Cobb was shaking his head.

"It's best that you come out. Yusuf's going to talk a little about what we should expect."

Eames sighed. "Fine. Just give me a minute, would you?"

Cobb nodded, and left silently, closing the door.

"Arthur," Eames began, laying his hand over Arthur's heart, "everything will be fine. You'll see. And then, like I promised, we'll get married. Sound good?"

Eames rose from his chair and crossed the million miles to the door. When he reached it, he paused in the doorframe, glancing back over his shoulder.

"I'll be right back."

Arthur's blank eyes followed him as he started to close the door, head falling to one side to better observe him.

"Darling," he said when the door was an inch from shut. "_Je t'aime_."

And Eames froze, and shut his eyes, and whispered, "I love you, too."

Then he closed the door.

**-ooo-**

It was time.

Though the sun still filtered down weakly, they crept along the lawn like rats through crumbling walls. They came in waves, bare feet dragging through the thin layer of snow, chased across the hills by trails of bloody footprints, an army stumbling and shambling towards the last battle before victory.

No more waiting.

**-ooo-**

**11:30 am, Bonanza, Colorado**

"Remember what I said," Yusuf reminded, casting Eames a look over his shoulder. "Like the change, the vaccine will make different people react in different ways."

"Yes, I _know_, Yusuf. This is the third time you've told me."

"I just want you keep it in mind," the chemist said, carefully filling the syringe with the correct dosage of the vaccine. "I won't tell you again, though, if it's annoying you."

"It is," the conman said, mouth thinning rebelliously against Cobb's pleading stare, the one that was trying to compel him to behave. And well, maybe, he was a little nervous. "Why, do you think something is going to go wrong?"

"No, I think everything will go fine, just like it did with Mal."

Mal had received the cure first, but not out of any favoritism. Cobb had simply wanted to get it done while the kids were distracted by helping Ariadne draw practice cityscapes. They were only ever focused on one thing for so long, especially today. Currently, Mal was lying unconscious on her bed, letting the vaccine do its work. She had taken it quietly, only snapping at Yusuf once or twice, a small flash of victory in her eyes.

Now, Eames waited anxiously for the vaccine to be administered to the ever silent Arthur, who was staring at the wall in the disinterested way he did when there were people in the room who were not Eames.

"Darling, Yusuf's going to give you the cure now, all right?" the Brit said, even though he was never sure whether Arthur was listening anymore. "Arthur?"

The infected let out a sigh that sounded very dangerously close to a hiss and rolled onto his side as much as his bonds would allow, eyes boring accusingly into Eames's. _I know what you did to Mal_, they seemed to say. _And now you're doing it to me._

"It's not like that, Arthur," Eames sighed, frustrated, ignoring the odd look that Cobb sent in his direction. "This will help you. I promise."

"Now," Yusuf began, carefully flicking the syringe, "I'm going to inject this into his arm. It should begin to work shortly, provided that he doesn't fight it. What he'll need to do is rest until about half an hour after I've injected him. That part's pretty strict, though, since his body chemistry will be rewriting itself and he'll be unstable. After that, I'd give him another half an hour to adjust, and then he'll be okay to travel. I would suggest sedating him, though." Yusuf glanced up and smiled.

He squirted a small bit of liquid out of the tip of the needle."I've also created hollow projectiles—bullets if you will, but not _quite_—filled with the vaccine. They've been modified for standard 9mm rounds, for whatever gun that can take them. The healing powers of the zombies should close the bullet would before it kills the person being transformed. But I'd still aim carefully." He finished his preparations and turned to smile at Arthur. "This won't hurt a bit."

But Arthur still growled when Yusuf stepped closer.

Yusuf hesitated, and Arthur's eyes narrowed further. "Eames, if you could…" the chemist sighed.

"Yeah, give it to me," Eames said, stepping forward to accept the syringe from him. "In the arm?"

"Yeah, that should do fine," Yusuf assured, taking a step back to give Eames some room.

Warily, Arthur shifted back away, tugging at his bonds with a ferociousness he hadn't shown since being brought inside. His eyes, when they met Eames's, were wide and angry, half-wild in a way that was too excruciatingly familiar.

"No," Arthur said, suddenly afraid. His gaze flickered between Eames and the window, then back to Eames.

"I'm sorry, love," Eames said, before injecting the vaccine into Arthur's left arm.

_"No!"_ he yelled, his eyes pleading with Eames to—

Ariadne screamed.

Everywhere, glass was falling from shattered windows as hands clawed to find purchase, the living dead trying to drag themselves inside. Cobb yelled for Miles and Marie to _get the kids upstairs,_ his finger already squeezing the trigger of his gun rapidly, trying to stem the tide of infected trying to get through the window.

Eames ran forward, ignoring Cobb's shouts to _get back, you moron, get away from there!_ and grabbing a shard of glass to start to cut away Arthur's bonds. "Don't worry, darling," he kept whispering, even as he felt fingers twisting into his shirt and pulling him toward the open window, "I'll get you out of here. I'm not leaving you again."

"_Eames!"_ Cobb yelled. "_Duck!_"

Eames did as he was told, dropping his body down onto Arthur's without a second thought, even though his neck was now well in range of Arthur's mouth. He kept trying to get through Arthur's bindings, hardly noticing the shots Cobb was firing over his head into the skull of the zombie climbing through the window.

Down the hall, the sharp rapport of Ariadne's gunfire could be heard, then footsteps, then nothing.

"Eames, they're coming. We have to _go_." Cobb swore when his bullets ran out, dropping the gun into his holster and drawing another, frantically trying to cover Eames and stop him from getting hauled out the window. The chemist's hands were white-knuckled on the grip of his semi-automatic as the first of the shadows began to darken the end of the corridor.

"I suppose it's been a pleasure," he began, and then started shooting.

The first of the zombies made it through the window.

"Yusuf, _go,_" Cobb ordered. "Get my wife and everyone else you can find, and get upstairs. We'll join you in a minute." He aimed, dropping the zombie only to find it replaced by two more, then three. Eames turned his own gun on the infected trying to pull him away from Arthur, bonds only half-cut.

Suddenly, Arthur used the last of his strength and _pulled_, the bonds giving way. He shot up from the bed and launched himself at the closest zombie, the one who had its _hands on Eames._ He tackled it, pushing Eames behind him and toward Cobb. Cobb grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward the door.

"No, not without Arthur," Eames said, resisting. "Not without my—"

Arthur tore himself away from the zombie and ran for the door, his mouth bloody but his hand going to Eames's extra gun. He drew it and fired, the shot going wide of its intended target, but still catching a zombie in the shoulder. He allowed Eames to pull him out into the hallway and push him towards the stairs.

As he moved to follow them, something caught Cobb's eye.

"You two go," he said, slamming the door to Arthur's room shut, hoping to keep the infected at bay for a minute or two.

"_What?_" Eames demanded, firing a shot over Cobb's shoulder to halt the infected woman coming down the hall towards them. "Where the hell are _you_ going?"

"Saito. I saw them dragging him off into the living room," Cobb said. "I can't just leave him."

"He's already _gone_," Eames said, retreating towards the stairs and Arthur, who waited anxiously on the first step. "For God's sake, Cobb. Think of your wife and children."

"I _am_. Yusuf's looking after them. I'd never be able to live with myself, Eames. Just go."

Eames gritted his teeth, but Arthur was already trying to drag him up the stairs. "Fine. Cobb, I'm not going to go after you if you don't come back."

"I'm not asking you to."

Eames turned to ascend the stairs, not looking back. Arthur paused, watching Cobb disappear down the hall with a strange look on his face, and then allowed himself to be half-pulled up the stairs.

**-ooo-**

"Yusuf!" Eames yelled as he and Arthur raced down the upstairs hallway. "God damn it, Yusuf, which bloody room are—"

A door at the end of the hall opened and, through the crack, Eames could see Ariadne, terrified and bloody. When she saw them, the she opened the door further and stepped out to cover them as they ducked inside.

"Where's Cobb?" she asked, her voice tight with fear and worry. "And Saito?" Behind her, Fischer's face was white as he leaned against the wall, his eyes shadowed and sad. Mark shook his head slowly, disbelieving.

"They got Saito, Cobb went after him," Eames said, and Fischer closed his eyes.

"Eames, come here," Yusuf said, and then injected Eames before the conman had even looked up.

"I was never bitten, Yusuf," Eames informed him shortly, but his words held no venom, only a sort of dull emptiness.

"Precaution. It won't do anything to you if you're not a zombie. Where is Arthur? I need to try to stabilize him, Eames, he _really_ shouldn't have been moved."

"He's right—" Eames's heart leapt into his throat when he turned and found Arthur no longer beside him. "_Arthur?_"

"Here," Miles said, nodding to where Arthur sat beside the bed they'd placed Mal on. "There's something wrong."

"Arthur…" Eames whispered, moving closer, but Yusuf stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"I wouldn't," he said. "It's the vaccine. He's been fighting it, trying to keep you safe and stay awake. The stress is catching up with him now, and I'm going to be honest and tell you that—"

"That me _what_, Yusuf?" Eames demanded as Arthur whimpered and pulled his knees to his chest, rocking slowly back and forth as the unsteady rhythm of his breathing grew louder. Every now and again it was drowned out by firing from below, their only indication that Cobb was still alive.

"That I don't know if he'll _survive!_"

There were footsteps on the stairs, pounding down the hall.

"Grandma, I'm scared," Phillipa whispered, burying her face against Marie's side. "I don't think I can be strong any longer." But she still reached over and took James's hand in hers.

"Do something, Yusuf," Eames ordered. "You do something _right_ now or I'll—" he cut himself off with a choked sob and pushed past Yusuf, kneeling beside Arthur on the floor. He laughed, hollowly. "I guess it's been fun," Eames said to the room at large. "Let's go out with style."

Arthur looked up at him, his eyes fixed on Eames's; pained, tired, scared. "I love you," he breathed, and then his eyelids slipped shut. There were scratches at the door, bangs and pounding and the sound of the zombies' enraged shrieks as they were met with the still-sturdy wood of the bedroom door.

Eames drew Arthur close to him and tucked Arthur's head under his chin. "I love you, too, Arthur."

Arthur pulled away slightly and half-opened his eyes, pupils blow wide and face ashen, and smiled.

Then he screamed and screamed and screamed.


	14. And it's only one step to your grave

**December 31, 2014: One Year Later**

"—Doct—_crrxx_—octor Yusuf to exam room three. Your authorization is needed to release patient Rhimes. Repeat, Doctor Yu—"

"—_suf, fuck, Yusuf how much of that fucking vaccine do we have? Fuck, fuck, fuck," Eames—_

—sighed.

Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzzed and dimmed, then heroically strived for full brightness, only to repeat the cycle. One of the bulbs a little way down the hall finally gave up the ghost and burned out, its light disappearing with one quiet pop—

—_of gunfire down the hall. They can barely hear it over the shrieks of the zombies, over Arthur's hoarse screams. The infected's frantic pounding on the door grows more rapid as the hinges begin to give. The door groans once, twice, and Phillipa and James start to cry harder, clutching to their grandmother's pant legs even as Marie backs up into a corner and cocks her shotgun._

_This is it. They all know that—_

"—the vaccine has been distributed as far east as Russia. _Russia_, can you believe it?"

Eames glanced up, gaze fixing on a passing doctor as she talked to her colleague.

"Dominic Cobb and his wife are out there setting up refugee camps and leading the relief efforts. I hear they've created over seventy of the—"

_—infected, streaming in and trampling over those who fall to the shower of bullets that greet them. They come in an endless tide, relentlessly pushing forward through the narrow doorway toward the survivors. In a closet on the back wall, Phillipa and James hide with their mother and Arthur, who has fallen silent and still._

_Eames doesn't have time to worry about that._

_Instead, he worries about Ariadne and Fischer, backs against the wall. He worries about Mark, who has just run out of bullets. About Yusuf, hands shaking. About Marie and Miles, holding hands, guns aimed at the ever increasing horrors. He worries about Cobb and Saito, who he can't see._

_About anything but Arthur, who has stopped moving. Anything but Arthur, who has stopped _breathing.

_So he plants his feet at takes aim and knows that this is it. This is—_

"—great news. They're an inspiration to us all. But I really can't imagine leaving my kids, even _with_ their grandparents, to go gallivanting around the world," the other doctor said.

"They're hardly _gallivanting,_ Paul. They're _saving_ the _world._"

"I know, they're heroes. I just can't imagine doing it, is all. But I guess that's what heroes are for, right? Doing things you can't? Now, about those charts…"

Eames looked down at the mug of tea in his hands, long cold, and took another sip. The mug's bright blue paint was chipped and cracked, a too-cheerful counterpoint of color against the stark white of his hospital pajamas. He shook his head and closed his eye before looking back up at the people passing by.

"Body count's rising higher and higher every day," a man muttered to himself as he skirted around a group of other doctors. "I see it, and I see _them_. I'll go insane, soon. If I see one more woman with pale skin and blonde hair or another guy with dark hair and dark, dead eyes I may just put a gun to my head and—"

—_pulls the trigger as fast as he can, again and again, trying to take down anything that's still moving. Eames feels the teeth sink into his wrist, into his shoulder, and as he goes down all he can see is Arthur; head tipped back, eyes open. Arthur, Arthur._

_Not moving._

_And then Eames closes_—

—his eyes stung.

Eames's fingers tightened spasmodically around his mug, and he set it down on the bench beside him to keep it from slipping out of his shaking hands. He wondered if he should go back to his room, but sitting out in the hallway was the only way he learned anything anymore. No one told him any news for fear it might aggravate his…_condition_.

He supposed that they would come looking for him soon.

After a moment of deliberation, Eames slipped his hand into the pocket of his robe and curled his fingers around the cold, metal case of a lighter, pulling it out to examine it for the millionth time since it'd been returned in the bag of_ personal possessions_. He had every detail memorized, but he liked to hold it all the same. To convince himself that it, at least, was real. Sometimes he just needed a reminder.

Above, the speakers crackled to life again and their harsh metallic words ricocheted around the drab grey walls of the hospital corridor and embedded themselves in the air by Eames's head.

"Ariadne and Robert Fischer please repor—_crxxx_—cafeteria 6, Saito is waiting with the supplies shipment. Pi—_crxx_—ot Mark H—_crxxx_—to the landing bay, please."

Eames toyed with the lighter's flint, its clicks comforting now in the low rumble of the conversations passing by him. He tried not look too much like he didn't belong, or someone would call and they—

—_are here, suddenly. The room is filled with the roar of gunfire, and distantly Eames thinks he can hear a lawnmower. Survivors—what seems like _millions _of them—are pouring into the room. He wonders if his fever is causing delusions._

_His head is pounding, and he's sweating and trying to ignore the teeth ripping into his stomach. Eames half-hopes that this kills him soon, because even though rescue has come, he can't see Ari and Fischer through the infected. Their screams have long stopped. Marie and Miles are somewhere_—were_ somewhere—to his left. Mark and Yusuf were swept off in the confusion, leaving a wake of twitching zombies fighting the salvation that will damn them._

_The closet is open._

_The infected, he thinks, must have been shot off of him by the rescuers. He doesn't know. He supposes that he may just have stopped feeling the bites, may have stopped _caring. _Because he can see, just out of the corner of his eye, Arthur lying only three feet away._

_Arthur has a new bite on his shoulder and his eyes are glazed over, his body battered and bruised. His skin is graying again, Eames thinks, though he can't really tell as his vision blends the surrounding room into vague blurs of color. All around him, bodies are moving, people are running and talking but Eames isn't listening._

_He reaches out his hand and slowly, slowly curls his fingers around Arthur's. And just for a second, Arthur's hand is in his, cold and unmoving, before Arthur is picked up and carried away. His hand_—

—touches Eames's shoulder, warm and comforting. Eames looked up and half-smiled, accepting the proffered Styrofoam cup of soup gratefully before moving his mug of tea to rest on the floor instead of the bench. Arthur accepts the seat gracefully and bumps Eames's shoulder with his lightly.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" he accuses gently, sipping at his own soup. "I'm pretty sure that you're not supposed to be up and about for this long without a _medical professional_ present."

"Hypocrite," Eames snorts. "I've seen your chart. _You're_ not supposed to even leave your examination suite."

"It's been a _year_," Arthur protests quietly, ducking his head to avoid the gaze of another overly-curious patient and nervously smoothing down the front of his robe. "If I'm going explode or relapse into a flesh-eating monster, I think I would have done it by now. They can't keep me in there forever. And besides," he said, sighing, "I never get to see you. They're worried that I'll trigger your psychosis again or something."

Eames is a little annoyed by how carefully Arthur is watching him.

"Darling, I'm starting to think that no one here except Yusuf is even qualified to practice medicine. I'm _fine_. I just need to prove it to them in a way they understand. I don't even remember—"

—_bodies on the floor, the screams, the blood, and Arthur just lying there, motionless. Hope is here, but too late. It's too late, too late, too late—_

"—anything at all from that day before I woke up in the hospital. They said I was lucky, that I was a zombie long enough for the fatal wounds I'd been inflicted to close to a manageable level. That's all I know." Eames took Arthur's hand in his and squeezed lightly.

"James," Arthur began carefully, squeezing back, "they told me that you didn't wake up for two weeks."

Eames shrugged. "One day, two weeks, it doesn't matter. All that matters is that we're both alive, right?"

"Right," Arthur agreed. "And when they finally let us out of here, I'm going to marry you properly."

Eames raised an eyebrow. "What was wrong with the first time?"

"You mean aside from the fact that we only got halfway through the ceremony before they took us back to our rooms or the fact that Mal isn't _actually_ qualified to perform a marriage?" Arthur grinned, then leaned in to kiss his almost-husband.

"Of course aside from that," Eames said, laughing, but a bit hurriedly because he had just caught sight of their frustrated attendants weaving through the crowd towards them. "Arthur, I love you. And of _course_ I'll marry you properly. I promise."

"I love you, too," Arthur assured, giving Eames hand one last squeeze before he felt the hand of his nurse on his shoulder. "I'll see you soon." He kissed Eames again, then stood, allowing Jenna to lead him away, back toward the room and the cameras and the stale air that never moved. He glanced over his shoulder to watch Eric argue softly with Eames not about having to be confined to his room, but would he _please_ stay in the common area?

He smiled.

Life doesn't always go the way you plan it. Sometimes, instead of going to school and graduating and having a normal life, you fall in love, break up, and then get attacked by flesh-eating monsters. Sometimes you turn into a zombie, then end up marrying a conman in a rushed, half-finished, completely unofficial ceremony while the men in white coats try to gently coax you back into your room. Sometimes things like that just _happen._

But that's okay.

It had been a year. One year since the end of the horrors, at least for Arthur and Eames. One year since the vaccine was perfected and administered. One year since the help came, _not too late_, and saved the lives of twelve people who thought they were all they had left in the world.

Arthur sat on the bed and watched the hands of the clock inch slowly around its face, the hour hand chasing the minute hand chasing the second hand for a long time, a _long_ time, then smiled.

"One year," he whispered, and kissed the ring Eames had given him, all those months ago. The clock chimed once, twice, three times—all the way to twelve. He smiled. "Happy New Year."


End file.
